


Maybe Fake's What I Like

by essequamvideri24



Category: The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: F/M, This was meant to be a one shot, and all for me, and if you like it that's just icing on the cake really, because why the hell not, but i got carried away, but slow burns are my jam, fake couple trope, historical accuracy has been thrown out the window here, maybe it will be a mini-set, not like a full blown multichapter fic, slower burn than i meant for it to be, this one is all fun, tropes are fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: He’s the celebrated lead singer of one of the coolest bands on the scene, she’s the talented guitarist and songwriter of an edgy band of sisters.  A bad boy who’s never committed, Harry feels drawn to Bess who’s offstage persona is more standoffish than he’d anticipated.  They’re both as cool as they come, and after they’re spotted together one night the press begins to hound Harry about whether he and Bess are together.  And, well, are they?  Really?





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey, can I bum a smoke?”

Bess looked up from her pack of cigarettes through her tangle of honey blonde hair. “Huh?”

“Do you mind?” The brunette guy in the black tee shirt before her asked, gesturing to the red and white box of cigarettes in her hands.

“Yeah – I mean, no…” She picked one out and held it out to him.

“Great set, huh?” He asked, raising his eyebrows as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the stage.

“Yeah, it was good.” Bess stuck a cigarette between her dark brown painted lips and drew out her lighter. “It’s just…”

The guy grinned, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

“No, go on. What were you going to say?” He held out a hand for her lighter.

She hesitated a moment longer, dropping the lighter into the expectant hand. “It’s just, they should have turned the vocals up a bit more… and probably… played some stuff off their older albums.” She crossed her arms over her chest and continued, “The sound on their older albums is more vibrant, the new stuff is kind of stale… you can tell they’ve been touring the life out of that material for ages.”

“What, you think because your dad was a legend you can just dole out flippant criticism like that?” The grin had morphed into a sneer. “Stupid little...” His voice faded as he stalked away.

“You’re welcome.” Bess grumbled, puffing on her cigarette.

It was only day one of the festival and Bess was feeling antsy. She’d been to plenty of festivals before. It was true, her dad was a legend, and she had grown up absolutely steeped in rock and roll culture. But this was the first time she had been invited to play a festival herself. Her and her sisters had been touring their debut album for all of three months when they had received the invite. It had seemed as though the music industry had overcome the initial reaction of prejudice against them by reason of their connections, and had moved on to appreciating their individual talents.

But apparently not everyone had come to that conclusion just yet.

She wondered if there was a way she could flip her festival pass so her name wasn’t quite so readily legible, but then she remembered how recognizable her face was. The album and tour had been selling really well, and as a consequence her and her sisters had received their fair share of press. Speaking of press, she hadn’t really dressed for them today, though she knew they would be there in full force. It was wet and cold and that called for duck boots, thick wool socks, flannel lined denim jackets, over baggy jumpers. It was a sloppy look, but comfortable enough.

A fine drizzle began to fall like a mist Bess briefly entertained the thought of ducking under some shelter and skipping out on the next act. But she decided against it. So long as she was able to change and fix her hair before her own set later on she would be alright.

Her sisters had begged off for the afternoon, preferring to stay at the hotel and have a chilled afternoon. Bess for her own part couldn’t stay away from the action or the music. 

“Bess? Bess York?” A guy and girl in matching long sleeve navy tee shirts jogged up to her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind a quick interview? Just a couple minutes.” The guy asked before the girl cut in, “Just a blurb, really.”

Bess combed her fingers through her unruly sand colored curls, the spray of drizzle beading on the strands. “That’d be fine.” She said, then spotted the cameraman lumbering after them. “What media are you two with?” 

“NME. It would just be for our website and, you know, YouTube channel.” The girl said.

“I’m not exactly camera-ready.”

“It’s just a quick little thing.” The guy persisted. “Besides, you look fine.”

What could she do but sigh, shrug, and eventually agree. The red light came on and the camera guy told the two journalists to begin. 

The girl, who seemed to be the more invested of the two came to stand by Bess. “We’re joined now with Bess York of White Rose. Now, your band is playing tonight on the Red Bull stage, is that right?”

“Uh, yeah, 7pm slot.” She shuffled her feet. “We’re right after Left Hand Side, hard act to follow.”

“I think you’ll be equal to the task. You and your sisters are touring your debut album.”

“Yes, it’s called Broken Promises.” She supplied. “All our tour dates are up on our website.”

The interviewer smiled genially. “The album has caused quite a buzz and has been holding steady in the top twenty on the alt music charts. Did you ever think it would be this successful?”

“Not exactly. We recorded the album on some old equipment in my mom’s basement. We never thought we would get picked up by a label, much less the chance to play a festival this year.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “It’s been wild.”

“Wild indeed.” The interviewer agreed. “We hear some pretty big insiders are planning on making it to your set tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I talked with a few people who said they’d be there tonight. In fact, I just interviewed Harry Richmond of Legends and he said he was really excited to hear you guys tonight.”

Bess blinked, brows raised, “Really? Wow, very flattering!”

“Speaking of, who are you listening to today?”

She brushed away a fat raindrop which had fallen on her cheek, the floodgates were about to open. “I just saw Tabernacles and I was hoping to catch Sidecar, so long as we don’t have a rainout.”

“Alright. Well, thanks for taking the time and we hope you have a great set tonight.”

“Thanks.” She nodded before the girl motioned for the cameraman to cut. 

“Really, thanks for giving us a moment.” The girl said, shaking her hand. “I’m actually a fan of your album and really hope I can make it tonight.”

“I hope you can too.” Bess said. If it wasn’t so controversial she would have thanked the girl for not bringing up her father. It happened more often than not, and it was quite a compliment not to have him brought up. 

Idly wondering what the time was Bess slipped her phone from her pocket. It was 3:15 pm and she had a text from Cece from seven minutes ago. _Are you heading back yet?_

_I was hoping to catch one more show._ She typed back as she wondered towards the next stage.

The reply was instantaneous. _Please come back. Need to get ready, head back, set up, quick sound check. You know the drill._

Bess pursed her lips, Cece could be so bossy one could almost forget Bess was the elder sister. But for all their spats and digs, the two were close, perhaps because they were so different. Besides, Cece wasn’t about to forget that it was her older sister who penned all the music and lyrics. Without Bess, Cece wouldn’t be singing. Bess, for her part, was content to step out of the lime light and let her sister be the face of the band, so long as she could be the brains behind it.

_Heading back now._ She tapped send, and marched off to where she knew she could get a ride back to the hotel.

The room the girls had been sharing was only just big enough. Two double beds, a TV, a desk, and a cramped bathroom. Mary and Anne were teasing their hair in a mirror when Bess arrived, she didn’t bother telling them the weather would destroy their handiwork. “Hey.” She greeted quietly and made a bee-line for her suitcase.

Normally she would have thrown on anything that came to hand, most of her clothes coordinated without a second thought. But tonight was a special night. Their first night playing a festival, maybe she could make an effort. 

“Is that you, Bess?” Cece called from the bathroom.

“Yeah.”

“Getting dressed?”

“Trying to…” She rifled through her clothes looking for something promising. It would be cold, so she needed a jacket, and pants, and… She gave in bending over the luggage and sat down on the floor with the suitcase. Certainly she had packed some things nicer than jeans and band tees? 

Cece emerged, a toothbrush stuck in her mouth, foamy toothpaste dribbling from the corners of her lips. “Have you seen your hair?”

Bess looked up and rolled her eyes, like Cece was some elegant creature at present? What room did she have to talk?

“It’s like…” She twirled a finger, “Super curly and crazy.”

“Cece…” Bess started with a sigh.

Her sister held up a finger to pause the thought and scurried back into the bathroom, returning without the toothbrush, her face wiped clean. “Let me guess, you can’t dress yourself.”

“Well,” She stood and gestured her exasperation with wide arms, “Basically.”

Cece clapped her hands. “Say nothing more.” She began rooting through her sister’s suitcase. “Actually, what were you thinking for the set list tonight?”

“Nothing fancy. Same as usual, but with a little more jamming.” Pausing for a moment, she sat on the foot of the bed before she began unlacing her sodden duckboots. “Actually, I wanted to see if you’d be ok with throwing in a cover.”

“A cover? Of what?”

“Oh, nothing we haven’t played with before.” Her socks, she found, were equally drenched. How had she been walking about like this? And happily? “A Legends song. That one that you like.”

“Oh, yeah. That’d be cool.” Cece dragged out an army green bomber jacket and laid it on the bed. “Covers are cool.”

“We could put it in near the end. Second to last?”

“Perfect.” She motioned to the clothes laid out on the bed. “There. Now, get dressed.”

She felt a little silly in the outfit. Even the roadies backstage had commented on how different she looked tonight. Dressed in an ensemble part her own clothes, part her sister’s, it was almost as though she didn’t feel quite herself. But being very much a girl at heart, her normal reaction to an important event was to get dressed up. It wasn’t anything fancy, or not so fancy as Cece’s ensemble. The bomber jacket, which was a must on this cold, wet night, underneath which she wore a thin white v-neck with a black lace bralette visible beneath. She was in her own second-skin black skinny jeans, but Cece had lent her a pair of thigh-high black suede boots with no heel -- thank heavens -- which made her feel equal parts ridiculous and badass.

“Nice get up, Bess.” A shaggy headed brunette laughed.

“Right, did you get my guitars all tuned, Royce?” She shot back testily, hugging her jacket closer around herself.

Mary was spinning drum sticks and tapping on her thighs in the tent behind the stage, while Anne and Cece sipped on tea. If she hadn’t been technically underage Bess could have gone for a beer, but she wasn’t willing to risk it. She knew it wasn’t very rock and roll to worry about image and perception, but she had learned from her father how important it was to shape other’s views of yourself. Instead, she contented herself by sitting down with her guitar and making sure she had the cover song down.

It felt like no time at all before they were being called to the stage, which was dim under the velvety blackness of the night. As she found her place before the stage lights came up she took a moment to asses. The rain had moved off, but had left behind a biting chill. The moon, a golden sliver, was cradled in wisps of cloud, hung in a sky much too cloudy to permit the dazzle of stars. 

With a sense of dread she let her eyes lower, level with the horizon, to find the tops of heads stretched out before her like an undulating sea. It was their biggest crowd to date. She swallowed hard and knelt to check her pedals. Maybe if she didn’t think about it too much she would be ok. All she had to do was find somewhere else to fix her eyes while she played, right? She hadn’t felt stage fright like this since they had first started playing. 

Her sisters were finding their way onto the stage now, the lights still hadn’t come up. They had never experienced stage fright or anything like it. She had brought it up to them once before, and all of them were incredulous that she felt uncomfortable at all, as they had each grown up under constant attention and scrutiny. 

There was a signal from the side of the stage, and Mary began with a steady drumbeat. Anne fell in with a solid, slinky bassline, over which Bess laid her own dreamy guitar line, quickly looping it with the press of a pedal before she returned with her main line. Lastly came Cece’s vocals. It was a mathematical build, one Bess had contrived especially for opening sets. It always got the crowd engaged. What she lacked in stage presence and showmanship she more than made up for in presentation, style, and advanced musical ability.

The lights finally came up, all yellow and purple and blue white. The crowd cheered and Bess felt her heart skip a beat. From there everything faded into sounds, lights, the strings of her guitar under her fingers, the thrum of the amplifiers and speakers, and the cheers of the crowd -- much as she tried to ignore them. It was a heady rush that could have affected her more profoundly if she had allowed herself to feel it all; but she couldn’t let it get to her.

The time passed quickly enough, as they cycled through their normal set. She was setting herself for their usual last song when Cece motioned to her and jogged Bess’s memory that they had added the cover. Smiling her thanks, she swapped out her Fender Jaguar for a pretuned Rickenbacker which was already set on the proper pedals and effects. 

Normally she hated pandering or schmoozing those in the industry and preferred to get by on her own merits. But this was something else, she told herself, a fun nod to a special guest at their show this evening. She allowed her eyes to play over the crowd, thinking that maybe she could catch a glimpse of him. It was an effort she soon gave up on, there was no way of picking any one out in a crowd like this. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many people there were pressed up against one another in the mud watching them.

Anne laid down the bassline first and everything fell into place better than Bess had imagined. They had only every played the song a few times, but were all familiar with it by ear. The guitar bits were tricky and imaginative, something she could aspire to in her own songwriting, but not anything she couldn’t manage. 

It felt strange to play another band’s song on stage in front of a crowd, when normally this was something they did in the privacy of their mother’s basement. She found that she had to be a bit more alert, more engaged, since she didn’t know the song quite so well as some of her own. The crowd seemed to be receiving it well, they were singing along over the roar of the speakers. She wondered how the guys of Legends would receive it, Harry Richmond in particular – as he was their lead singer and songwriter. The guy was a notorious perfectionist, and he would probably have a critique formulated of their sound already.

They wrapped with their usual last song and then set down their instruments, gave a wave, and made their exit just as their time slot was ending. It was only as she was leaving the stage that Bess realized that she had been running on adrenaline. Grabbing a bottle of chilled water from a roadie who was holding it out to her, Bess could barely contain her jumpy nerves.

“Really great set, you guys!” Their manager beamed and hugged each sister in turn.

“Your vocals were banging tonight!” Bess kissed Cece on the cheek.

“I really like that effect you had going on ‘Realizations’.” Cece returned the peck.

“Hey, we need to move out of the way, they’re bringing the gear off the stage.” Mary began to lead the way further behind the stage. 

There were snacks and drinks set out for them, at which Anne was picking. Their manager was handing them back their festival passes on long lanyards and keeping the industry people at bay while the girls slipped back to their tent to regroup. 

“I feel like mom should have been here.” Mary said as she collapsed into a chair.

“Why?” Anne was nibbling on a twizzler.

“Because this was a big deal for us… as a band… as musicians.”

“You know she couldn’t come.” Bess said, “She doesn’t want any of the attention she would be sure to get at something like this.”

Their manager popped his head in the tent. “I’m giving you girls ten, then you need to come out and meet some people.” 

“Thanks.” Cece swiped a beer from the minifridge and the others turned a blind eye.

“I’m stepping out for a smoke.” Bess announced and slipped out the back entrance.

It had been a wild ride, she reflected. Just three years ago she had been engaged to a French blue blood, her dad had been riding it high as a rock star, and she was all ready to follow in his footsteps. And then the chinks had begun to show in the armor of the life that was built up around her. Her fiancé’s father had disapproved of his engagement to some “tacky celebrities’ kid” and threatened to disinherit him if he “carried on” with her. All too easily he had given her up. Then her dad died of a sudden heart attack. The real nail in the coffin had been the discovery of the immense debt her dad had been in and had hidden from his family. 

Her uncle Rich had been appointed executor of her dad’s estate, and had to resort to selling off all his brother Eddy had in order to pay off the debts. The house, the cars, the guitars, the recording equipment, even the rights to his music. The royalties from the music were supposed to pay her and her sisters’ ways through university; that had always been dad’s promise to them. Apparently retaining the rights had been deemed an impossibility by Rich, who had sold the music to Sony for a huge sum which just barely managed to cover the remaining debt.

Bess lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply before she found a seat on the damp curb. Mom had been forced to downsize, and move out of the city. Rich had offered the girls internships at his record label, which they had eagerly pounced on. Their mother, however, bore their uncle an undying animosity for the way he had handled Eddy’s estate. But Bess knew fault really lay with their father for secretly amassing so much debt. 

The intervening years had seen Bess and her sisters saving up to purchase their instruments and equipment, with generous gifts from Uncle Rich here and there to shore up the gaps in their kit. Before his own sudden death, he had introduced them to important people and helped them find used recording equipment after advising them that it would end up cheaper than buying studio time. It was just enough to get them started.

All the blood, sweat, and tears – the arguments, the creative differences, the sibling rivalry, the hard work, the slammed doors – seemed to be finally paying off. 

“You hiding?”

Bess looked up to find a figure in dark clothes standing near. She blinked against the dim light and stood, in case she needed to make a quick getaway. “Uh, nah, just taking a break, more like.”

The figure stepped closer. “Hope I’m not imposing.” He brushed at the tawny curls that spilled onto his forehead. “I just wanted to say, I really enjoyed your set tonight.”

“Well, thanks. I’m glad you liked it.” She took another drag on her cigarette. He looked familiar, but there wasn’t enough light out here to be sure who he was.

“Hey, do you mind technical questions?” He asked and she waved for him to go on. “How do you do that effect during the chorus on ‘Miss You/Long Gone’?”

“I fade the loop, hit the distortion pedal, loop that line, then overlay that with a new line on a delay/reverb pedal.” 

“Hey, Bess?” A new voice cut in behind her, and Bess turned to see her manager at the back flap of the tent, “I was told you were out here. Oh, and I see you met Harry already.”

Harry? Harry… Richmond? “Oh my… sorry, I didn’t recognize you!” She sputtered, nearly flicking her cigarette out from between her fingers. How very cool of her.

“I’ll let you catch up.” Her manager said and disappeared back into the tent.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you at all.” For the moment she was glad that the darkness probably masked the warm flush that was surely spreading over her features.

Harry chuckled and shuffled his feet, “Well, I mean, we’ve never met before, so it’s excusable.”

“If anyone should be asking technical questions, it’s me. You know far more than me.”

He stepped a bit closer, hands deep in the pockets of his dark denim jacket. “No, not at all. It’s a really cool effect, I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

“Well, I like to experiment. When I hit on something neat I try to incorporate it.”

“Sounds like my approach.” He mused. “I take it you write some of the music.”

How could she answer without sounding self-absorbed or cocky? “I write all of it, actually.”

“The lyrics, the music, all of it?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sing?”

It was her turn to laugh, “No, it’s not my calling. I don’t like to be front and center. Besides Cece has a better voice.”

“Voices don’t count for too much when it comes to rock.” He hesitated and rubbed at the stubble over his jaw and chin. “But you’ve got one hell of a drummer. She’s really… something. But can I just give one…. piece of advice.”

“A critique?” She hazarded a clarification.

“Not so much – it’s just, I think you guys are missing one element. A keyboard.”

She was surprised, she never really thought of their sound as one that needed keys. “Really?”

“Well, with the guitar sound you’ve got, keys or synth would really complement and enhance what you’ve got going on.” He held up his hands as a gesture of innocence or good intentions, “Just an observation.”

“Well, that’s something to think on.” The end of her cigarette glowed as she inhaled a long drag.

“And while I’m being honest, in the interest of full disclosure, I feel I have to tell you… my manager told me to come find you. Apparently there was some sort of discussion of us spending time together and getting photos.”

Involuntarily she wrinkled her nose, what on earth was he talking about? “Huh?” The question was muffled by the smoke in the back of her throat.

“They – our managers -- agreed it would be mutually beneficiary… for both bands – for both of us.” There was something behind his eyes, embarrassment? Exasperation?

“Thanks for being honest about – about being fake.” The response bubbled forth unbidden.

“What?”

“I thought I was getting some feedback from someone who was actually interested.” She couldn’t help but fume. She had always thought that Harry hadn’t been tainted by fame, guess that wasn’t true. “But really you were just thinking of what I could do for you? Typical industry BS.” Dropping her cigarette butt to the pavement, Bess crushed it under her heel as she turned to leave him in the alley.

“Please.” He grabbed at her wrist and she shook him off, but turned to face him all the same, arms crossed over her chest.

Raising an expectant eyebrow, she figured she could afford to hear him out one last time.

Harry sighed deeply and rolled up the sleeves of his denim jacket. “It’s this media BS, I hate it too, but we all have to play the game. My manager talked to your’s. They thought it would be good for both of us if we were seen together on a few occasions. It’s just this thing done to generate interest. Look, I’ve been playing the same material for a while and it’s sort of stale now -- I’m working on a new record but we released and toured the last one ages ago – but being seen with new talent would add some interest. And you -- your band is new, being seen with me would give you some… credit.” He licked his lips and cast an eye about, “I know it’s crappy and stupid and kind of humiliating, and you’re totally right, it’s fake; but this is just how it’s done.”

She studied the pavement for a few moments, then rolled her eyes to the sky, shaking her head. The stupid games were something she normally avoided, preferring to get by on pure talent instead. Why on earth would her manager agree to such an absurd arrangement? He must have had a good reason. “I guess… fine.”

“Fine?”

Leveling him with a look she conceded, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

They exchanged phone numbers and as he handed back her phone with his number programmed in it he gave her a reluctant look, a half grin and an arched brow. “Everything I said before, about your music and talent and all, I meant all that. That wasn’t fake.”

“Thanks for the assurance.” Was her blasé response. She thought she would be happier to meet the person behind one of her favorite bands, then again she didn’t envision the meeting going anything like how it had.

“I guess I’ll… catch up with you soon.” He said as he slipped his phone in to the pocket of his jeans and turned slowly to go.

Then it dawned on her, “Oh Harry?”

“Yeah?”

It was no time to be shy. “What did you think of the cover… before?”

A grin spread over his expression, revealing his lovely white teeth. “I liked it. You gave it a new meaning.”

What the hell did that mean? She wanted to ask, but he was already moving off down the alley.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary was seated with Cece at the small table on the terrace outside of their hotel room. Both girls were busy on their phones.

“Did you read any of the reviews of our show yet?” Asked Cece distractedly, her fingers dancing over the slick glass of her smartphone.

“Not yet.” Bess stretched and shivered. It was a chilly morning, but they had still opted to take breakfast on the terrace. It wasn’t raining just now, and they felt compelled to take advantage of the fine, but misty, morning.

She thought of her own phone, tucked under her pillow. She had woken to a new text message. One from Harry. She had only read the notification, the first line of the message, then had switched off the screen. She still wasn’t sure why she had agreed to his proposed arrangement the night before, and she wasn’t quite ready to face the consequences. Maybe she could figure out a way to wriggle out of her newfound obligation.

“Here, here’s a good one. Oh wait… no that’s…”. Cece shot Bess a puzzled look as she joined her sisters at the table. “Did you do an interview yesterday?”

“What? Oh, that.” She rolled her eyes, “It was just a little blurb.”

“Did you ask Elliot?” Cece referred to their manager.

Leaning against the railing Bess produced a rumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket and propped one between her lips. Breakfast of champions. “It was an impromptu, informal… thing.” She flicked her lighter and inhaled when the end of her cigarette caught the flame.

Mary looked miffed and Cece made a big show of wafting the smoke away from herself. “You know, you really ought to quit.”

“Yeah, it’s a bad habit.” Bess took another drag and turned to face out onto the street below. She’d picked up smoking while working for her Uncle Rich. Everyone in the music industry seemed to smoke and, fearing she would miss out on an opportunity that came up during a group smoke break, she had taken up the habit as well. She had yet to kick it.

“I really don’t think you should do interviews by yourself,” Cece said picking at her croissant. “None of us should.”

Bess bobbed her head in agreement, “Alright.”

“I mean, we need to be a united front.” She continued, disregarding her sister’s accord. “We can’t all go off on our own just, saying whatever we want. We need a uniform message. And we need to keep each other informed… about anything relating to our image and the band.”

She could hear the heat increasing in her sister’s voice. Something had rubbed Cece the wrong way and she was trying to pick a fight, she was just gearing up to it.

“Alright, Cece,” Bess said exhaling one last time, “You don’t need to go on. I already agreed with you and I don’t think Mary or Anne will disagree either.” She approached the table and stamped out her barely smoked cigarette in the ash tray between Mary and Cece.

“Bess!” Cece protested, looking up from her phone to gesture from the ash tray to her breakfast with exasperation.

“I’m heading for the shower!” Bess called over her shoulder as she slipped back inside.

As she locked the bathroom door behind her Bess let out a sigh. What had prompted Cece to mention keeping each other informed? Did she know about Harry? But that was impossible. But Cece seemed overly worried about being left out. She silently wondered why? Sure, her younger sister always liked to have the attention on herself, but this seemed somehow, almost imperceptibly, different.

While she waited for the water to heat up Bess scrutinized her face in the mirror. Her skin had a dull cast about it and her eyes looked weary. She really should quit smoking. 

****

They had a free day. Their first in a long time. Months of touring meant only a little time to ones self devoid of scheduled obligations. Cece, Mary, and Anne had called an Uber to take them out to the shops. It was all too easy for Bess to beg off, after all she had never much enjoyed shopping for the sake of shopping. If she was going to the store it was for a purpose.

As soon as the trio had left the room Bess dug up her phone from under the pillow. Text notifications blinked up at her from the screen. The latest:

_Wyd?_

_Come on, you made a promise._

_Remember?_

She uttered a sound of frustration and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. Unlocking the phone and clicking into the text chain she could see that Harry had sent a string of messages that morning. Apparently it was important that they be seen together today. It had to be today.

“Oh for the love of…” She tapped back her own reply.

_Just chilling. You have something in mind?_

Tossing the phone back on the bed, Bess consulted with her luggage on the floor. It seemed she was going to have to make some sort of an effort today. Selecting a pair of light wash jeans, a threadbare cream jumper, and a leather jacket, Bess finished off the look with a thick pair of socks and her blessedly dry duck boots from the day before.

_We’ll get plenty of press at the festival. Where are you staying?_

Ah! So, it was to be all business, she saw. Well thank goodness for that, emotions only made things complicated and messy. Her mind harkened back to what Cece had said that morning about press. In a way her sister was right, much as her message had been perverted by her attitude.

_At the Lion’s Inn. I don’t want to do any interviews._

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_No, no interviews. Just photos. Be there in 10??_

_Ok._

Ten? Ten minutes? Bess packed her small cross body handbag and combed her fingers through her hair in the mirror before she took a deep breath and departed for the lobby. Unaware even of the time, Bess consulted her watch to find it was nearly noon. She had guessed she and her sisters had slept late, but she had no idea it was that late! Once in the lobby she dropped into a chair and her mind began conjuring up visions of what their day could be like and how they would get along. Then it struck her, she really didn’t know Harry at all. What if they didn't get on in the slightest? Would she then be released from her absurd promise? Or would she have to suffer through her end of the bargain?

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jacket. _Here. Green Land Rover._

With no small measure of trepidation Bess crossed the lobby and exited out onto the street. She scanned the cars parked along the curb outside, but no vehicle there met the description.

The phone vibrated in her hand. _Across the street._

Her eyes lifted and she could just see a 1990’s model Land Rover, Harry just visible behind the windscreen. What a gentleman, texting her like that. She inwardly rolled her eyes. Bess supposed she shouldn’t expect him to get her door for her either. No sooner had the thought flitted across her mind than she reproached herself. This wasn't a romantic relationship, he didn’t need to impress her. They would both get what they needed from the association and then get out.

She crossed the street and was a little surprised to see that he had, in fact, gotten out to greet her. “Hey, Bess.”

“Hey.”

He followed her around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. It was all a bit stiff, a bit staged, but she slid into the seat all the same and braced herself for what was sure to be an unparalleled awkward car ride.

“So,” He jumped into the driver’s seat and buckled up, “were you avoiding me this morning?”

Way to cut to the chase. “No,” she lied easily, “I was busy with my sisters.”

“Mmm hmm.” He veered out into the road and joined the traffic. “Well, anyway, I was thinking we could catch some shows, just bounce around to whatever suits our fancy. Just spend the day together.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then, uh, probably leave around sun down.” He distractedly changed lanes. “You know, no good photos once the light’s gone, or whatever.”

“Right.”

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and glanced at her sidelong. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t like what?” Bess feigned innocence, perfectly aware of the vibe she had been giving off and now suddenly a slight bit ashamed of it. Her monosyllabic responses and flat tone didn’t exactly endear herself to him.

“My plan.”

“For… today, for this fake dating media thing?” She looked for some way to distract herself and ended up pulling a foot up onto her seat to adjust her sock.

Harry’s cheeks colored slightly. “All of it.” He muttered.

“Well I agreed to it, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

What she had thought was going to be an awkward car ride had turned into an unbearable one. Who starts off a first date, no matter how ill intentioned, with a bit of bickering?

“Look, let’s just do what we have to and then… just… you know, forget about it.”

There was a pause and Bess turned to read his facial expression. “Right.” He was inscrutable, impossible. And perhaps almost as reluctant as she was, she reckoned.

They drove on in silence, or near silence, save for the radio which she desperately wanted to turn up the dial on. But, she daren’t disturb this strange environment they had created in the car, she saw that as strictly his duty for some bizarre reason. Passing through the gates Harry rolled down his window to show his pass to the staffer in the neon shirt. They were waived through to VIP parking, separated from the regular parking and much closer to the action. 

He parked the car and they both got out, meeting at the back of the car where Harry open the boot to root around for a jacket. “I talked to Jasper and my mom, who are my managers, and they gave me some pointers for today.”

“Yeah?” Bess invited more information.

Harry unearthed a tan canvas jacket, which he held out and regarded carefully before tossing it back into the boot. “Yeah. They said to walk around together and hang out, but not call attention to ourselves too much. That would be strange at this point. The only PDA should be hand holding.” He shrugged on a navy blue Barbour. “Oh, yeah,” he said as an afterthought “and smile.”

“I can do that.”

He looked her up and down for a quick second and Bess found herself uncomfortable with the attention, averting her eyes and pretending to ignore him. “It’s supposed to rain today, are you sure that leather jacket is enough?”

“Oh, uh…” she smoothed her hands over her jacket uncomfortably, “I didn’t get the chance to check the weather before I got ready. I’m sure I can just… get a poncho… or something… later.”

But she could already see that he was back to looking through the mess of stuff in the boot. It was all a tangle of clothes, wires, notebooks, shoes, and other random objects which suggested he spent plenty of time on the move. “I may have…” he was muttering, half to himself. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-“

“Ah hah!” He drug out a khaki green hooded jacket with a small degree of self satisfaction. “I think its my mom’s, but it should fit. I think.” 

Harry handed her the garment and Bess thanked him, before trading it for her own jacket. Then they were off, stalking through the grass toward one of the stages. “Where to?” She asked as they stepped out into the cleared meadow and joined the masses.

“Oh, well… I have no idea whose playing, let’s see.” He slipped his phone from his jacket and began looking up a schedule.

“Well, I can see Haven is playing over on that stage,” she pointed across the field, “if you don’t mind?”

Harry looked up from his screen, “Oh, uh, sure that sounds…” he blinked hard and looked at her sidelong yet again, “Are you a Haven fan?”

Bess bit her lip and cast her eyes towards her boots, moisture beading on the rubber toes. “Not particularly.” She admitted, she had suggested the act simply to fill an awkward gap.

“Oh, ok, I was about to say…” his eyes returned to his screen, but she could just glimpse a grin twisting his lip. The thought didn’t need to be finished, he had doubted her taste for a moment. 

“Anything better to see?” She asked still facing him, but walking backward further into the field.

He followed, scrolling on his phone screen. “There’s so much hip-hop and rap today.” He remarked.

“Music snob.” She tested a teasing tone, unsure how his serious demeanor would respond.

He merely raised an eyebrow, “Anyway, there’s an artist I like playing on the Sony stage. If we go now we can catch the last half of the act.”

Bess felt a little silly for her failed attempt at lightening the mood. Harry just wasn’t going to be a basket of laughs, and she was going to have to resign herself to that fact. “Lead the way.” Her tone was flat and she spun on her heel to step into stride with him as he pocketed his phone again. “Who’re we going to see, by the way?”

“You’ll see.” Was his cryptic response.

She spotted a few heads turning as they wove through the crowds toward their destination. She’d grown up with a camera lens directed at her whenever she left the home with either her mother or father, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to absorb uninvited attention without comment. Momentarily her breath caught in her throat as she spied a few camera phones and cameras angled at them, both discreetly and openly, and her limbs went tingly with nerves. She inhaled deeply, she was just performing… it was only a little different from the stage. Oh hell, the stage, that wasn’t a comforting analogy. She’d never properly dealt with her stage fright.

“You ok?” Harry’s voice was low beside her.

Her lashes fluttered as she took another deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” They were getting more attention than she had anticipated. Everywhere people were casting looks at them.

“Ignore them.”

How? How on earth did one ignore this type of thing? She’d never got the hang of it in her nineteen years. “Sure, ok.”

“It would probably look a lot more natural if we were having a conversation.” 

His suggestion was the apex of absurdity in this tableau which was already the height of unnatural contrivances. “Aren’t we having a conversation right now?” Her words were clipped.

“Well, not so much. We just exchanged pleasantries and then you seemed to be embarking on another disagreement.”

“Forgive me.” She fought to keep the irritation from her face, though it dripped from her voice. Was he always so insufferable?

Harry sighed and shifted closer to her as they walked, “Want to get a drink?”

“What, now, it’s so early, it’s only…” She broke off and checked her watch, “not even one yet!”

“Please, let me get you a drink.” He smiled down at her, the first genuine smile she’d seen all day and now she felt that perhaps he was teasing her. Was she acting high strung? Cece often accused her of being a total Monica.

“Alright.” She nodded and let him lead her to a little stand selling drinks where he bought them both beers. “Is this your way of telling me to chill out?” Bess asked quietly as she sheepishly sipped from the cup he handed off to her.

“What makes you think that?” Harry wrinkled his nose good-naturedly and turned in the direction of a nearby stage.

She glanced at the stage and immediately figured this was the act Harry had been heading for. It was a band she had never head of before, Night Jewels — a ridiculously hipster name, she mused. Like her own band it was composed of all girls, but unlike her band the music sounded a little tired, a little generic, if she was allowed to flatter her own music original and unique. “Do you like this band?” She asked Harry, who seemed reluctant to get into the thick of the crowd that fanned out from the stage, growing sparser the further out one looked.

“They’re ok.” His eyes were fixed on the stage. “They’re supposed to be up and coming.”

Of course. She should have known, he was positioning them for maximum press coverage. She took a big gulp of her beer and wondered for the hundredth time what the hell she had got herself into.

Nodding her head along to the music, Bess did her best to pretend she was having fun. Song after song dragged by, the heavy pop influences had saturated the songs to the point that they were nothing but regurgitations of tunes rejected by the day’s biggest divas. The saccharine sweet lyrics with cutesy quips mimicked the uninspired melodies and childish percussion that backed them. The limited talent of the band was seemingly redeemed by their sexy getups and stage antics. Bess took the experience in as a lesson in exactly what to avoid in her band’s image and career.

“There really is no substitute for talent.” Harry said low enough so only she could hear.

Bess giggled into her beer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you reckon their guitarist gives lessons?”

He chuckled and whispered back, “If you’re thinking of scheduling a lesson, I hear she’s booked solid already.”

“Oh damn.” Bess feigned disappointment before finishing her beer.

“Let’s get out of here. I don’t think I can take much more.”

They wandered the fields, stopping and taking in whichever gigs caught their interest. Bess pleasantly discovered that they at least had similar taste in music, which was refreshing since she felt like they had very little in common. They took turns picking out which shows they wanted to dip into for a few songs at a time. He introduced her to some new bands and she exposed him to some of the experimental music she loved.

They didn’t talk much, at least not about anything outside of what they were already listening to. It was all surface level conversation, anything deeper seemed to be like wading into a swamp fraught with alligators, and Bess very much wished to avoid any further bickering for the day.

Then the rain started. At first it was a gentle drizzle and they could pull up their hoods against it and pray that a true storm wouldn’t roll in. But it was all in vain. The wind soon began lashing the rain and the clouds that approached were unfriendly and darkly harbored heavier rain, thunder and lightning.

“We need to leave now.” Harry observed aloud as a group of festival goers hurried past them.

Bess nodded her emphatic agreement and they headed back toward the car. The tall grassy meadow they had tramped through from the lot to the field had turned to a muddy quagmire, Bess discovered as her steps led her to progressively softer and softer ground. “For for goodness sake!” She hissed almost to herself as she lifted one heavy foot only to have it get sucked back down into the thick mud. 

Harry, a few steps ahead of her, turned to look over his shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just a little…” She took another laborious step and struggled to maintain her balance.

“Here,” He said and moved to meet her were she stood, before taking her arm and helping her move through the increasingly marshy ground, the rain pelting against them.

They reached his car eventually and Bess hesitated as he opened the passenger side door for her. “What?” He asked, gesturing for her to get in to the car.

“The, uh, the mud.” She looked down at her boots which were absolutely caked.

“Don’t worry about it, just get in.” He gestured again, impatiently. 

He drove them out of the festival grounds and through to the nearby village, where he parked outside her hotel. Shutting the engine off they sat in the diffused glow of the controls on the dashboard. “I just wanted you to know,” He began a little unsteadily, “today was a test run.”

“What do you mean?” Bess scooped up her bag from the floorboards at her feet.

He couldn’t quite meet her inquiring gaze. “There’s a contract. Or, our managers want there to be a contract. My team is drawing it up.”

“A contract?” There was a skeptical arch to her brow. “Is that necessary? Really?”

“Yes, we need ground rules.” There was little more confidence to his voice now, “We each need to be protected.”

“Protected?” In her confusion all she could do was parrot his statements, turning them to questions.

“It would set up the obligations and such that we each would have. I mean, if anything went wrong one of us could easily destroy the other in the media.” Ah, yes, the media, Harry’s all-important media. “People would really hate us if they knew about this arrangement.” He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. “Though, apparently these type of contracts happen all the time. Or so I’m told.”

Bess considered this. Hadn’t her mom and dad always said they were so lucky to find true love in such an industry?

“I plan on signing the contract.” Harry said. Was that meant to be some sort of comfort, some sort of coercive argument to sway her in favor of the document.

On her own Bess could see her benefit from the arrangement, as uncomfortable as her vantage point was. She would be dating - or would be seen to be dating - one of the coolest musicians in the alternative rock scene. It would give her band a boost in recognition, ticket sales, album sales, media presence, air time, and so forth. It begged the inevitable question: “What’s in it for you?”

Harry smirked, “I don’t think that’s your concern.”

Was he for real? “I beg to differ.” Her response was automatic.

“I’ll have the contract send to you tomorrow. You can figure it out for yourself then.”

She pursed her lips. Did he have any manners? At all? No matter her own gain from the arrangement, could she really put up with him? His changeable moods? His closed off and suspicious nature?

“Will you sign it?” He asked.

“You’ll have to figure that out later.” She retorted and yanked her door open. “Thanks for a barely tolerable day. I’d say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but well - you know.”

“Let me walk you out.” He said, eagerly collecting himself. 

She spied the photogs nearby and sighed. “Fine.”

He met her on the rain slicked and semi-reflective pavement outside the car door. The lights of the village sparkling on the wet road like celestial bodies. He walked her through into the lobby of her hotel.

“What’re you doing for dinner?” He asked casually, his hand in the front pockets of his jeans.

“I think my sisters and I will be getting a pizza.” She passed through the door he held for her. “And I think you and I have done enough for one day.”

Harry chuckled and moved closer to her, his voice almost in her ear, “Did you think I was asking you out?”

Humiliation quickly led to ire, which burned and pricked at the back of her throat. Unuttered words of retaliation and sharp quips bubbled to the surface but never broke. She struggled to master herself, managed to not let her jaw go slack with surprise. The photographers were crowding the exterior of the lobby windows and such things wouldn’t make a pretty picture.

“I’ll have that email to you tomorrow.” He didn’t miss a beat, but he did seem to revel in the wrinkle of her nose that betrayed her raised hackles. “Maybe we’ll catch up in London next week.” He said, then slipped his hand into her’s, cold and boney.

“Don’t count on it.” She quipped, an innocently sweet smile on her lips.

“We’ll see.” He gave her hand a squeeze, before letting go. “Until then…”. He matched her smile and moved away towards the door outside.

Confused, Bess made for the stairs. What was his deal? He was inconsistent, unpredictable, and impossible to get a read on. One minute he could be graciously helping her through the mud, the next he could be torturing her with embarrassment, all with an equable smile.

“Bess!” She opened the door to Cece’s exclamation. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, where are Mary and Anne?”

Cece was curled up on one of the beds in a bathrobe, her wet hair air drying unglamorously. “They went to so see a show or two. Last night of the festival and all that.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Bess shrugged out of her jacket and cast it atop her suitcase with the sinking realization that it wasn’t her jacket, but the one Harry had loaned her. Crap. She’d stupidly left her own favorite leather jacket in the boot of his Land Rover.

“Well,” Cece began, “Elliot dropped the news on us today - and naturally I thought we should discuss.”

“About…” Bess held out a solitary hope that her sister wasn’t talking about what she dreaded she was.

Cece giggled, which gave Bess the distinct impression that her sister wasn’t going to get into a complete blow out with her over the matter. “About Harry Richmond, of course.”

“Right.” Bess kicked off her muddy duck boots.

Cece checked her giggles, “You don’t seem so pleased.”

“And you seem entirely too pleased.” She snatched up a room service menu and began perusing the offerings.

“So, it didn’t go well?”

Bess bit her lip. Cece was studying her intently and there was no fooling her. “He’s an asshole.” She finally blurted out.

“What?!” Now her little sister was truly intrigued. “How? What did he do?”

“I don’t want to get into it.” She stalked to the hotel phone on the desk. “Let’s order something and move on.”

“Wait, Bess,” Cece got up from the bed and moved toward her elder sister, “You are going to sign the contract. Right?”

“Not if I can help it.” Bess spat.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a terrible pity that their initial outing had been such a success. Not for Bess or Harry personally. But it had managed to generate a level of interest which had yielded a spike in ticket sales and album sales, at least for Bess’ band. Their Twitter and Instagram followings had increased considerably. And the articles had scrutinized the two of them and their respective body language so minutely that Bess questioned how anyone could be bothered.

She had to admit that their photos had come out nicely. Her sister had complimented her on how well the two of them seemed to look together. “Like a real couple.” Cece had said as she scrolled through a page of photos on her phone. And Bess had to admit that there was something in the photos that suggested they belonged together, something irrational and indescribable.

The two of them standing, smiling at one another before the boot of his Land Rover. Them sipping on beers and surrounded by festival-goers. Harry smiling at an unaware Bess, her attention elsewhere. The two of them laughing over something one or the other had said. Harry helping Bess through the mud with a smile. Harry holding her hand and smiling down at her as they spoke in the lobby. Literal snapshots of their day. However the photos failed, thankfully, to capture their true feelings on that day.

She returned to the photos a few time that day as she played on her phone in the tour van on the way home. Harry was, arguably, good looking, in a tall, slight, stylish type of way. His smile lent much to his otherwise unremarkable face, as did his large gray eyes set above the high cheek bones carved across his slender face. He wasn’t a fiery red-head like her, but there was a red-gold cast to his light brown hair which grew in a mop of loose ringlets.

It was too bad that his personality was a total turn-off. She dumped her phone in her lap and looked out the window to realize they had made it to her mother’s village. Soon enough they were pulling up to her mother’s country home.

It was here, in this historical farm house, that Mary and Anne lived with their mother. The two girls worked local day jobs to support themselves, happy to be out in the country with their mom, neither of them were cut out for city life.

Elizabeth, their mom, was also happy to be away from London, and disengaged from the music industry. Well, less engaged than she used to be. She oversaw the roadies who were unloading the girl’s touring gear into the garage, instructing what should go where.

For Bess and Cece home was a cramped flat in London proper, with just enough room for the both of them to live between tours and other events that called them out of the home. Cece’s days were comprised of promoting the band and attending interviews and events as the band’s ambassador. For her own part, Bess put her multi-instrumental talent to work and did studio work at Sony, recording various instruments for artists’ tracks. She also turned a profit selling off songs she wrote that didn’t work for her own band.

For now, they would have lunch here before Cece, Bess, Elliot, and the two roadies would pack back into the tour van and head into London. Elizabeth, always a gracious hostess, insisted that no one would leave her home hungry and she had plenty of sandwiches piled on the kitchen table when they tramped inside the old farm house.

“Come let me show you my garden, Bess.” Elizabeth said, standing after she had finished her lunch. She held out a hand to her eldest daughter and led her out the big doors into the back garden. These days her garden was her prime pride and joy, outside of her five daughters. There were beautiful flower beds bordering the verdant yard, with a wide wood gate to one side that led out onto pastureland, on which she kept a a flock of sheep.

“I saw you on the internet this morning.” Her mom said, bending to inspect a shrub. “With that Harry Richmond.”

“Yeah?” She asked, apprehensive.

“When did that happen?” How much did she really know? Her mother was one to play it all rather close to the vest. Harry’s mom and her’s were old friends from her dad’s music heydays. Maggie had worked at his music label in those days, and the friendship between the two women had come naturally.

“Just recently. It’s new.” Here she hesitated. “Did you talk to Maggie about it?”

“Oh, just in passing on the phone.”

Bess hardly believed that. If Elizabeth could have managed her daughters’ band, if that had been acceptable in their industry, she would have. The woman loved to be involved, and couldn’t keep herself from getting stuck in with the gossip as much as possible.

Bess went out on a limb. “Then you know it’s all fake, of course.”

Elizabeth plucked a few flowers off a nearby vine which sprawled like a possessive dragon over a trellis. “Does that bother you?”

The reply was automatic. “No.”

Her mother nodded. “Good, good. Have you signed it yet? The contract, I mean.”

Bess shoved her hands into the shallow back pockets of her jeans. “Should I?”

Suddenly her mom’s full attention was upon her. “Yes. Absolutely, you should. Don’t you see, this is a huge opportunity for you?”

She couldn’t muster the gall to lie this time. “It is?”

“Bess, until you break out, people will only ever see you as your father’s daughter. Your talent will be stifled in his shadow, a shadow people won’t be able to see past. You won’t be taken as seriously as you deserve.”

“Isn’t this just… hitching my star to another rocket? Won’t people just see me as Harry’s girlfriend?’

“No, no, no.” Elizabeth was emphatic in her disagreement. “This thing, this dating thing with Harry, it’s not permanent. It’s just a stepping stone. It’s just the first step out of the shadow. You need to be noticed. You need to sign that contract.”

****

Bess sat at the long glass table with Elliot at her elbow. The room was sparsely decorated in a very modern sort of way. Behind them and beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the silver skyscrapers of London loomed over the dignified buildings that had sustained the kingdom through centuries of growth. It was a gray, dreary day, yet again. But Bess had long since become resigned to the whims of the British weather and didn’t allow it to influence her own mood. Though today it eerily mimicked her inner turmoil.

“You’ve read it, right?” She asked as they waited. “All the way through?”

“A few times.” Elliot responded with the a level of confidence Bess certainly couldn’t match. “We even had the legal department at your label look over it.”

She shifted uneasily in her white plastic chair. “It doesn't have anything… weird… in it, does it?”

Elliot chuckled, “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Nothing like… anything that could embarrass me?”

He leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers before his lips, “You aren’t required to film a sex tape, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Elliot!” It was a hissed scold that he received with impish pleasure before they noticed some movement beyond the frosted glass wall opposite them.

“Shhh, here they come.” Elliot motioned to the figures moving indistinctly, darkly, on the other side of the wall.

The door was pushed open by Maggie Stanley, Harry’s “momager", and behind her came Jasper Pembroke, his uncle and other manager. Maggie was positively tiny, smart in her ankle cut black pixie slacks and white shirt beneath a coal colored blazer. Her dark hair was raked back into a tidy pony tail. No fuss, no frills. She was straightforward woman with few adornments beyond her gobsmackingly huge engagement ring and expensive handbag. She looked too young to be Harry’s mother, but Bess was already acquainted with the story of her teen pregnancy. Jasper was a tall, stout fellow, older than Maggie, with a care worn face and wary eyes that swept the room, getting the measure of things right off the bat. He’d been in the business for ages, even if Bess didn’t already know it, she would have suspected it upon first meeting him.

Behind them both came Harry, his only alteration was a pair of thick rimmed glasses and Bess couldn’t help but wonder if these were meant to make him look “smart” or “sophisticated”. He had an easy smile on and was affable in contrast to the others in the room.

Bess and Elliot stood and hands were shook all around. “I told you I’d see you in London.” Harry said smugly as he took Bess’s hand in his grasp.

“So you did.” The color rose to her cheeks as she remembered her own retort when he had originally said it. She remembered how she had proclaimed to Cece that she wouldn’t sign the stupid contract. She remembered how she had swore to herself that she wouldn’t put up with crap she didn’t have to put up with. Yet, here she was shaking Harry’s hand in his label’s office.

“See, you can trust me.” His voice was a low whisper. And although it may have been intended as an encouragement it made Bess uncomfortable. She didn’t trust him, not at all. But shortly she would be signing a contract with him. At least he would be legally bound and she could seek redress in the case of a breach.

“Shall we?” Jasper suggested and they sat in separate camps on either side of the glass table. “Do either of you have any questions, Bess? Elliot?”

“Harry has to sign too, right?” Bess was acutely aware, in that moment, that she was only nineteen and the most likely to get shafted in this whole deal. She at the very least wanted to make sure that he would be held to the terms as well.

“Absolutely.” Jasper affirmed.

“And the duration?” Elliot asked. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Twelve months.” Maggie responded.

“Unless they agree in signed writing to dissolve their contract before then.” Jasper stipulated, flicking through the contract to find the exact provision.

“Unanimously or unilaterally?”

Jasper scanned the document with his index finger, “Ummm… unanimously.”

Elliot considered this for a moment while Maggie and Jasper waited, eying him. For his own part, Harry looked unperturbed, “If she ever wants to get out of the contract I don’t have a problem agreeing to that, I don’t want her to be stuck in it.” He said, before his mother put a shushing hand on her forearm and discreetly shook her head.

Bess looked to Elliot who arched a brow at her. She nodded slightly. “Alright.”

They agreed to sign and Harry inked his name first then passed it to Bess. She bit her lip, her mind in a jumble as she looked at his tidily scrawled signature, large and linear. Was this really what she wanted to do? What the hell was her life, anyway, that this was a real situation she found herself in? What would her dad think if he were sitting here today? He had always been a risk taker, she reminded herself, and a wildly successful rock star as a result.

She took a shuddering breath and scribbled her name sloppily under Harry’s on the document. The ink wasn’t even dry yet and the papers had been rushed away for copies to be made.

“You want to celebrate?” Harry asked as everyone stood and congratulated one another and shook hands all over again.

Really? Celebrate? “I have work.” She begged off and began looking about for her backpack.

He seemed genuinely intrigued. “Work? Where?” 

“Sony. I do studio work there.” She was far from embarrassed, she took pride in earning an honest wage.

“Where’s your guitar?” He looked about for a case that wasn’t there.

Shouldering her backpack with ease Bess tucked a lock of her flame colored hair behind one ear, “I’m on drums today, the kit’s already at the studio.”

“Well, Sony isn’t far away, let me walk you.”

She looked up into his open face, as if she would find the trap she sense there, as if his gray eyes would give it all away. Finding nothing sinister there, she allowed him a concession. “You can walk me out, but you don’t really need to come with me to the studios.”

Thanking Elliot, her manager let her know he’d stay behind for the copies and any other loose ends that might need to be taken up. Harry was waiting for her at the door to the conference room, holding it open for her.

“So what are you up to today?” She asked, matching his long stride as escorted her through the office.

Harry scratched at a day’s growth of stubble along his sharp jawline. “I need to meet with my sound engineer, actually.” He said.

“Oh, right, you're working on that new album?”

He held another glass door for her, and they walked through into the reception area, where he waved to the receptionist genially. “Yeah, most of the tracks are recorded. It’s mostly just mixing and tweaking now.”

“The hard part.” She said mock-knowingly.

“I just, want everything to be perfect, you know?” He said.

Tapping the down button to summon an elevator car Bess’ lip twisted and she shook her head. “Actually no, I can hear the song just how I want it when I put it together, so the engineering is pretty easy for me.”

“You never add anything?” Harry asked, cocking his head.

She stepped into the elevator when the chrome door parted, “Only during recording. I want my songs to be playable in a live performance. I loose that element if I engineer it too much.”

“I’ve listened to your album, you’re honestly saying you can play all of those live.” He seemed doubtful, even challenging, as he pressed the button for the lobby. “Every single one.”

“Yeah.” Bess fought to keep her defensiveness from her voice. “You saw us at the festival, you didn’t notice?”

“I guess not.”

There was an awkward beat and Bess grasped at the straps of her backpack, biting her lip while she thought of something to say. “Tell me about you new album.” There, that should preoccupy him. Someone so boastful should have plenty to say about their latest project.

“You’ll have to hear it when it comes out.” Was his only response.

“Come on, give me a little run down. What’s the vibe?”

The doors slid open and he instinctively pressed his hand to the edge, so the doors wouldn’t close on them. “I don’t want you stealing my inspiration.” 

She leveled him with a look. He was teasing, but she sensed there was a too much truth behind the statement. “Right, Richmond.” She slipped out into the lobby and strode past the bank of elevators with him. “My bad for trying to find something to talk about.”

“Don’t take it personally. I prefer to keep things under wraps.” He smirked as he led the way to the doors out onto the street, “Besides, it will force us to find more in common than just music.”

Bess didn’t give him the opportunity to get the door for her this time. “So I guess I’ll just wait for your next text message.”

Following her out into the sunlight, Harry popped on a pair of vintage shades and stopped for a moment, a hand on her shoulder. “Dinner and a show tomorrow?”

The thought of sitting through a dinner with his insufferable ass sounded like hell at the moment. “How about drinks and a show?” She countered.

“Just let me know what show.” He was inscrutable behind the dark glass of his sunglasses, but for the briefest moment his body language suggested that he’d thought, however briefly, about some type of PDA, as he stepped closer to her.

Exhaling sharply she took half a step back from him. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” Was all she said before turning on her heel and getting lost in the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

****

Sat on the foot of her bed, Bess stared into her own reflection in the mirrored sliding doors of her wardrobe as she brushed out her long red hair. The room should have been her sanctuary, her refuge, and in a way it was, but no one would have supposed so. It was a cramped room, just big enough for a bed, wardrobe, and a rattan-bottom chair that doubled as her nightstand. A faded quilt made for her as a child by her nan, Jaquie, was spread over the bed, and the walls were hung with concert posters and Indian style sheets with colorful prints. A sole aloe plant was eking out a rather miserable existence on her windowsill, reaching for the light that filtered in through the glass panes.

“A date?” CeeCee asked, sprawled across the bed behind her, eyes glued to her phone screen, but her mind firmly invested in their conversation.

“It's definitely not a date. It's a... business... thing?” She snorted a laugh.

CeeCee giggled, “It’s definitely a date,” she opined before pinching her sister’s side, “A date for dateless Bess.”

She set her brush down firmly on the bed. “I’m not dateless.”

“Then why haven’t you even been on any dates?”

"I guess you don't classify my last outing with him as a date?" 

Her little sister dropped her phone on the quilt and sat up. "No, that - that was a photo op." CeeCee tucked her own hair behind her ear. "Although, I guess you're right, tonight isn't too different, really. Just another media stunt."

"The whole thing is a media stunt from start to finish." Bess reminded her. 

"So..." CeeCee met here sister's eyes in the reflection of the mirror, "Why haven't you ever had any boyfriends?" 

“We can’t all be serial flirts like you.” She said with a note of finality, sectioning off her hair and combing through it roughly with her fingers.

Dad had never let her date. He had been strict with all his girls like that. He’d let them hang out with family friends in a family setting, but dating was out of the question. Often he’d joked about having to install bars on the windows to keep the boys away from his girls. Everything had been supervised, and he was of the opinion that no one was good enough for his girls. Their mother had agreed at the time, but had loosened up the reins after his passing.

CeeCee had leapt at her first taste of freedom and had picked up date after date, and relationship after relationship. Even dating one guy seriously for a year and a half, which was the most she had ever seen her flighty sister commit to. But Bess had chosen to focus on her work, her duty to herself and her sisters as she saw it.

As she took her hair in her hands, CeeCee came up behind her and took took over, beginning to dutch braid the lengths of thick, dark red hair expertly. “You’re nervous.” She said. “You should really just think of it as a business thing, that's all it is after all.”

Bess looked away from her reflection. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s all just an agreed thing, anyway.” Her fingers work slowly, but precisely. “Just don't let your feelings get into it, then it'll be a mess.” There was a marked change in her sister’s demeanor, less teasing. “You’re a real independent kind, Bess. I wish I was more like you, if I’m being honest.” 

Letting her shoulders drop, Bess exhaled. “And I wish I was more extroverted like you.”

“Extroversion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He tone lightened momentarily. “But don’t go thinking I don’t see what you’re doing for us. This is going to be great for our careers, Bess.” She tied off the end of one braid. “Thank you.”

“You’re the one at events half the nights of the week.”

CeeCee embarked on the second braid. “Yeah, but… that’s such a small thing. A picture here or there with my name in the caption. It doesn’t do us much good.”

“This isn’t how I wanted our music to get recognized. I feel like a sell out. I always said we’d grow this thing organically…”. Bess rubbed a temple. “I feel like I’ve betrayed myself and all the things I always told you and the girls.”

Her little sister smoothed her fingers through Bess’ hair. “We’re not compromising the music, Bess. That’s the important part. We’re just getting what we wanted sooner.”

****

Leaning up against the bar in her borrowed jeans and a cropped, ribbed black long-sleeved top, Bess felt more like CeeCee than herself. She’d never go to a bar solo, let alone to meet a guy. It was an older establishment, but a busy one, with posters one the walls alongside neon beer adverts and signed, faded, photos of celebrities who had stopped in. There were no stools tucked under the bar, and instead people leaned up against the edge, crowding one another in. “It’s just a business thing.” She reminded herself before she managed to flag down a bartender.

“Can I get a, uh…”. What was a sexy drink? She didn’t know any cocktails, aside from the names she heard bandied about on the TV. And even then she didn’t even know what the hell was in them. “A uh…”

The baldheaded bartender blinked impatiently above a taught mouth, flinging his rag down on the bar and busying himself with a small slick of moisture on the surface. She made a rapid survey of the taps behind him.

“A Bellhaven.”

He rolled his eyes and tugged at his beard as he picked up a chilled glass and turned his back on her.

“There you are.” Harry was suddenly squeezing in at her elbow along the crowded bar. “I came in a couple of minutes ago and couldn’t… I guess I just walked right past you.”

“Sorry,” She said automatically, lamely.

The bartender returned with her drink and set it down with a modicum of irritation. 

“I’ve got that,” Harry said motioning to her drink, “And I’ll get the same as well.” He addressed her over his shoulder as he watched the beer pour from the tap, “You a beer drinker, Bess?”

“Uh,” She traced her fingers through the frost on the sides of her glass, “Yeah, I guess.”

Harry took a swig of his when it arrived. “You don’t see too many chicks drinking beer. Could have pegged you as a vodka tonic gal.”

She smiled down into her drink, “That’d be more CeeCee’s speed, I think.”

“So, how was the studio yesterday?” 

“It was a long day.” She admitted candidly. “And you, did you ever meet up with your engineer?” The question sounded banal even as it dropped from her mouth.

“Yeah, good guy. Didn’t get much done, but… it just is that way some days. I guess I wasn’t feeling it.”

Licking her lips, Bess looked past him and about the packed, tiny bar. She’d never been here before, it had been a suggestion from CeeCee who, ironically enough, wasn’t even old enough to drink. 

“Well, I hope you like the show tonight, I’ve never seen these guys live.” A quick scan through the night’s entertainments had proven that all of her preferred shows were sold out, and she couldn’t stand the idea of chancing any other sold out shows, so she had purchased some tickets to see a band she vaguely recognized. The printed tickets were shoved into her minuscule cross body bag, they’d been cheap enough and she wasn’t exactly expecting to catch the performance of the century. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Harry shrugged out of his jacket, “Is it me or is it warm in here?”

She nodded and sipped her drink, trying not to notice the lean muscles of his arms as he set the jacket on the bartop. “Yeah, it’s super crowded in here.” 

“So are you working on any music right now?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about all that.” The words slipped out before she could filter them through her brain.

He sighed and passed his tongue over his teeth, “Yeah. I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

“To answer your question, though,” She sidestepped her own rudeness, “I feel like I’m always working on something.” 

“Hmm…”

The conversation stagnated and she polished off her drink. She was going to need more alcohol in her to survive, and she pushed her glass away from herself while catching the eye of the bartender who gave her a beleaguered look from his post further down the bar. Stealing a quick glance at Harry she sensed his own unease.

“Are you in London for long?” She asked at long last, still waiting on the bartender to make his way to them, the baldheaded man had decided to fill a few orders as he worked his way to her.

“Well, I live here, of course. But I think I’m going to need to go away for a bit in a few weeks, get into a different headspace and… do some work.”

“Oh?” She kept her eye trained on the bartender, lest he forget she was waiting. “Where to?”

Harry finished his own drink and shifted his weight from foot to foot, “My mom has a big, old place out in the country. I was thinking of heading out there.”

“Alone?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He considered the bottles lined up against the wall, reflecting the dim yellow light spectacularly and casting it off the mirror behind them.

At long last it was their turn to order, “Whiskey neat.” Harry confidently pointed at one of the bottles a bit higher up the shelf, “And for you, Bess.”

“A La Fin du Monde.” She ordered the beer with the highest alcohol content she could think of.

“No liquor?” There was curious twist of Harry’s lip.

She tried to conjure up an explanation, but failed, “I just… never know what to order.”

“I’m surprised.”

“How so?” She smoothed her hand over the gap between the belt of her high waisted jeans and the hem of her crop top, hoping the beer wasn’t bloating her too much. 

“You seem like the type who always knows just what they want.” He shrugged. “But I could be wrong.”

“Funny,” She accepted her new drink, “I had the same read of you.”

Chuckling, Harry leaned away from the bar, “You want to take these outside?”


	4. Chapter 4

Lights flickered past, reflecting maddeningly in the windows of the tube car. Bess bent over the screen of her phone, flicking through the pictures associated with an article on a rag magazine’s website.

Photos of her and Harry ensconced on a bench outside the pub, beers in hand, just talking. Photos of them on the sidewalk outside of the concert venue, standing a bit a part from one another. Photos of them leaving the venue, Bess hugging her arms about her chest as Harry zipped up his jacket.

She pursed her lips and closed out of the article, titled “Are They or Aren’t They; Alt Rocker Steps Out With Legend’s Daughter”. A disgraceful title. But not any better than the others she had already sifted through. “Budding Romance or Just Friends,” “Rocker Pals’ Night Out,” and “York’s Daughter Keeps Richmond At Arm’s Length”.

It felt unfair, but the proof was right there in the pictures. The two looked like acquaintances, nothing more. Bess let her screen go dark and watched the lights zip past her. It was day three of the farce and she’d already let it slip from her grasp.

She couldn’t help it that they didn’t get on, all she could do was do her level best on her end to uphold the contract. While keeping emotions out of it. And not letting him get under her skin. What a stupid agreement. Bess shouldered her soft guitar case as the train neared her stop.

Studio work had been steady for her lately. So steady, in fact, she’d been forced to work on her own music during what little down time she had, long after her fingers had wearied from strumming all day, and her ears were no longer able to distinguish a good chord progression from a bad one.

“Rob’s hired you for studio 4.” Polly let her know as she passed through the front office. She’d been playing with Rob for the few days, and quite frankly she was tired of his staid and safe tunes. She was dying to rip in with a soulful riff or play with some pedals or at least hit the vibrato every now and again. But each time she’d so much as moved in one of those directions Rob and his engineer had resisted most vehemently.

Why did Rob keep requesting her when their styles so obviously didn’t mesh?

Bess crept quietly into the studio to find Paul, the engineer, manning the soundboard, as Rob laid down some lackluster vocals in the booth. 

She shouldn’t care because she was being paid by the hour, but the music really was remarkably bland. Who bought this sort of music? Was it stock music to be used in movies and TV or something? She couldn’t imagine picking up a whole album of Rob McLean’s dry, tasteless music. Song after mediocre song about how his wife had left him.

Just a thought, but maybe it was the music, Rob?

The moment Bess began settling into the chair beside Paul, Rob spotted her.

“Oh, Bessie, there you are.” He stepped back from the mic. “You ready to play?”

“Sure,” she began unzipping her soft case, lifting her cream Fender Jaguar from beneath the material. Truth be told, she hated that he called her Bessie, but correcting him hadn’t stopped him from continuing to do so.

“Come on in here.” Rob began shifting about the papers on the music stand under the mic, “I’ve got the sheet music in here.”

Sheet music? No, Rob had tabs for her. Not that he knew the difference. She hated working with non-professionals.

All the same, Bess gripped the neck of her guitar and slipped off the chair. There was the sound of the studio door behind her opening and then a sickly sweet:

“Do you mind if we borrow Bess for a few minutes?”

“Who’s that?” Rob asked, behind the glass of the recording booth.

She looked over her shoulder and was confronted by the stony face of Maggie Beaufort.

“Maggie?”

Paul pressed a button and relayed the message to Rob. “She wants to borrow Bess.”

“Borrow me, for what?” 

Maggie sighed, “To talk.”

“Hey, lady,” Rob called out over the mic, “I’m paying for Bess’s time. Get your own guitar player.”

“Yeah, Maggie, I’m working right now. Whatever it is will just have to wait.” Bess turned to make for the door to the recording booth.

But the older woman was not to be deterred, she stepped into the studio and rummaged in her bag for a quick moment. “No matter. I’ll reimburse you for Miss. York’s time. You can request another player at the front desk.” She held up a £100 note so Rob could see it before laying it on the sound board. 

“What the- Bess- Bess? This is very unprofessional!” Rob sputtered, brows knitting above his beady eyes.

“I- I-“ She looked from Rob to Maggie. As much as she wanted to be freed from playing uninspired tunes for the “musician” she didn’t have the best feeling about what it was Maggie wanted to borrow her for.

“Come along.” Maggie stepped back and pulled open the heavy door out into the hall. And something in her tone compelled Bess to follow her. To follow her ram rod straight back through a labyrinth of corridors and up a few flights of stairs. Guitar hastily shoved back into it’s case and slung over her shoulder once again.

“You mind telling me what you pulled me away from my job for?” Irritation laced Bess’ tone. “I mean, you reimbursed that man, fine, but I’m losing pay here.”

“If you play your cards right, you won’t have to work here at all any more.” Was the older woman’s cryptic answer.

“Ok, sure, but, I still have to buy groceries on the way home tonight, so…” She rolled her eyes while the other woman couldn’t see.

“Here.” She pulled open a door, and reading the plaque on the wall beside it Bess noticed they were no longer in the part of the building where the small hourly studios were labeled numerically. No, these were the studios named for famous artists. The large, luxury studios. The type she’d never been in before, except with her father.

Stepping though Bess took in her surroundings. The soundboard was huge, and behind it was plenty of seating for bands, management, and the rest of an artists’ entourage. The plate glass that lined one wall, revealed a large recording space beyond, the walls and ceiling clad in unstained pine. A drum kit was arranged with microphones set up around it. And ensconced within, on a squat stool, was a somewhat beefy looking fellow Bess vaguely recognized.

Harry sat beside his engineer on a plush leather office chair, headphones over both their ears as the drummer did his bit.

Maggie, with that enviable confidence, strode right over the Harry and touched his shoulder to get his attention.

In an instant her had shed his headphones and stood, following his mother who motioned for both to join her in a little seating area in the spacious room, raking his tapered fingers through his tawny curls.

“Bess, did you see the pictures from last night?” 

She nodded, as Harry took a seat on the sofa next to her, well, about six inches from her.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, I saw them.” He confirmed, kicking up one ankle to balance on the opposite knee. “They weren’t great.”

“Weren’t great?” Maggie echoed incredulously. “They were terrible. You two looked practically like strangers. What were you thinking?”

Bess hoped that was a rhetorical question, because she didn’t have an answer. Well, at least she didn’t have an answer that wasn’t snarky.

“Well, I was thinking that we looked like two people on their first or second date, who were just starting to get to know one another.” Harry attempted.

“No, Harry, you didn’t look like you were on a date at all. Your body language, both of you, wasn’t convincing in the slightest.”

“Body language?” Harry asked, still rather unruffled by his mother.

“Yes. Body language.” Maggie motioned from one to the other of them. “For instance, right now, my read is that you two don’t know one another and don’t really wish to get to know one another.”

“How’s that?” Bess piped up finally.

“For one, the distance.” She gestured to the expanse of sofa between them. “Get closer.”

Harry’s hands came down on his denim clad knees with a smack as he sat up. “What, right now?”

“Consider it practice.”

She shifted ever so slightly closer to Harry, and he to her.

“Oh come on, don’t be so shy.” Maggie chided and they scooted closer, until their thighs were almost touching, and her shoulder brushed his. “Now, act like you like each other.”

“Mum.” There was a warning edge to his voice which was new and, frankly, unexpected.

“If you can’t fake it now, it’s safe to assume you won’t be able to fake it when the photogs spot you.” Maggie stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Bess hated being a part of this charade, but she’d signed up for it. And it was, after all, for the greater good. The greater good being her and her sisters’ careers.

“Fine.” Harry threw an arm about her shoulders and applied a slight pressure so she leaned into him a tiny bit, before he smiled down at Bess charmingly, a smile so perfect only an orthodontist could dream it up. How did he turn it on so easily, she wondered, as she attempted to reflect that smile back at him. It all felt rather cozy, especially for a girl who had hardly enjoyed any male company in her life. In fact, she was all too keenly aware of all the places her body made contact with his and suddenly she was feeling quite warm. “That ok?” And just like that he snapped his eyes back to his mother.

“Yes, more like that.” 

“Alright. Well, what? Should we get back out there tonight and give it another go?” He released Bess’s shoulder and leaned back into the sofa cushions, but didn’t move away from her.

Maggie waived a hand. “No. Dates two nights in a row? That’d seem…”

“Well, I am supposed to like her.” Bess wasn’t prepared for how the phrasing struck her. “Maybe I’m eager to see her again? Maybe we’re really hitting it off?” He suggested.

So long as people were pitching ideas… “What if we got some photos leaving here together today? It’d raise some more questions and interest.”

“What type of questions?” Maggie asked.

“Well, what were we doing? Recording together? Are we making music together now?”

“Or,” Harry cut in, “was one of us sitting in on the other’s recording?”

“That still leaves the friends or lovers question open.” Maggie pointed out.

“Lovers? Ugh, no, don’t use that word.” Harry shook his head vigorously.

Maggie shifted her glance to Bess and raised an eyebrow in question. “Yeah, no, no one uses that word any more. Anyway, well, we could always do something to indicate that we aren’t friends.” 

“Like hold hands, or a parting kiss, or something.” 

Maggie stood, "Well, I'm going to drop a tip that you're both here and with any luck you can leave in an hour."

"Can I get back to work now?" Bess leaned forward, about to stand, hand already grasping the nylon strap of her guitar case.

"No." The older woman looked at her in almost disbelief, "We cant have people out there contradicting our story that you two were here together." 

Harry produced a pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his white tee, "Well, there's no way I'm going to be through here in an hour. We still have a lot to work on."

"Be that as it may. All I care is that you both stay in here together until you exit the building, together."

"And are you exiting the building now? Or any time in the near future?" Harry asked, the smirk on his lips the only indication that the quarry was cheeky rather than disrespectful. 

Lightly lifting her Prada bag onto her shoulder Maggie's expression twisted into a smile, apparently she could appreciate her son's dry sense of humor. "Glad to see you value my insight and wisdom so much, dear." She quipped. "Bess, just make sure you stay in this studio. Bye you two."

Once the older woman had cleared out of the studio Harry stood and made for the soundboard. 

"Uh, excuse me, but, how long do you think I'll be here?" Bess spread her arms, palms upward, as if her wide gesture would emphasize how irate she was.

Harry hemmed and hawed for a moment, eyes fixed just above her head as he muttered to himself and ticked off some items on his fingers. "Maybe... four more hours?"

"Four more- what the-" She'd been banking on her studio fee to get groceries that evening so she and CeCe could, like, eat. And if she was going to be here for four more hours there was no chance of her returning later in the day to pick up some additional work. "I don’t think so."

"I've paid for this studio time up front. John's here laying down the drums and Rich blocked off the whole afternoon to engineer. I can't just call it off." Harry held up his hands in the classic "sue me" motion. 

She didn't want to make it about money, but, well, it was pretty important. "Look, I was in the middle of a job down there, which you and your mom called me out of. I was going to make £100 or so."

“So? You can book another job tomorrow. This is just for today."

She leveled him with a look. Did she really have to spell it out for him?

"I've missed an opportunity to take home a check tonight." Her voice dipped low, going almost raspy. 

The recognition visibly dawned on his eyes. "What, you want me to pay to have you here? That’s pretty… tasteless?”

“Tasteless? You’re the reason I'm missing out on a gig… compensation. Don’t be so cheap” By now, she was sure her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. Breathing deeply she mentally put a reign on her temper. "Besides, it's not like I wouldn't work for it." She gestured to the recording booth, "you can throw me in there with my guitar and get your money's worth.”

Pressing his eyes shut and shaking his head, Harry smiled and snorted a laugh. “What, and give you a credit on the record. This isn’t my first rodeo-“

“What the-? No. I don’t want a credit. I want a paycheck for an honest day’s work. Get over yourself.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, as if it was the punctuation on their exchange. “Fine. When John’s done in there, we can both go in and play some rhythm and lead. It’ll save me having to record both myself, like I usually do.”

She sat back on the sofa and busied herself with her notebook and pen, jotting down lyrics and some possible tabs accompany them. From her vantage point all the way in the back corner, Bess could see the whole tableau spread out before her: Henry and Rich at the sound board, headphones clapped over their ears, intent on a pair of laptops and the various controls before them; John beyond the plate glass that separated the booth from control room, bobbing behind the drum kit, his sticks skimming over the various components in smooth, almost mathematical motions. She looked up occasionally to watch, but without any sound to accompany she found it rather uninteresting. 

Five pages of her lined notebook had been filled up, front and back, before Bess heard the squeak of wheels and looked up to see Rich and Harry rolling their chairs back and standing. John was mopping his brow and making for the door into the control room.

Harry caught her eye and crooked a finger at her, inviting her to whatever was happening now. “Hey, come meet someone.” He called out to John when the door opened. “Bess, this is John Oxford, our drummer. John, this is Bess York.”

“Hmm.” John took her hand with a broad grin, “And if I’m your drummer, what’s Bess to you.” He teased.

Here Harry prevaricated, perhaps hoping the moment, the joke, would pass without comment. But instead it hung there. “My, my girlfriend.” 

A deep laugh bellowed from John’s chest, his ruddy cheeks lifting below mirthful eyes. “Is that right?” He let go of Bess’ hand. “Lucky boy. If you didn’t have your music, you’d never get a girl half so good looking. If you don’t mind me saying so Bess.”

It was all rather more frank talk than Bess was used to, and she didn’t know what to do but plaster something akin to a smile on her face and nod along. Girlfriend? She was going to have to get used to that.

“Bess, this is Rich, our engineer.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Rich’s salutation was, thankfully, more traditional.

Harry and John clapped one another on the back before the drummer made his exit. “You want to grab your guitar and meet me in there?” Harry asked, already backing his way to the door to the studio.

Returning to her soft case and shouldering it, she hesitated a moment, watching Harry in the studio. He pulled out two stools and two sets of headphones, before grabbing a few mics to start arranging. He knew what he was doing, it was obvious he’d done it many times before. She wondered, not for the first time, where his producer was. This seemed to answer her question. She had to assume he self-produced the band’s albums.

Having grown up in the industry, Bess had too often seen musicians with even a whiff of fame suddenly take to bossing around the help, acting like they were above it all. Those were the type who were in it solely for the fame. The real musicians, the ones who did it all for the love of creating music, almost never did that. They respected the process too much, they were too hands on. One guy had told her he couldn’t help it, it didn’t matter if he was recording in his bedroom, or playing the O2, there were some parts about making music he had to do himself, for love of the craft.

She had to respect that behind this facade they were building, there was a genuine person in there, and not, as she had assumed, some kind of fame machine.

“Need a hand?” She asked, as she propped her case up against one of the stools, once she had joined him in the studio.

“Actually,” he was fiddling with some wires, “would you mind grabbing a stand from over there?” 

She followed his gesture to a handful of black metal music stands huddled against one wall, and obliged, walking it over to set it before the two stools. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he stood and gripped the slim trunk of a mic stand, “can you sit there with your guitar?”

Producing her cream Fender Jaguar from the case, Bess hopped up on one of the stools, resting her battered hightop Vans on the rail between the legs. Harry set the mic down to her left, and craned the long arm until the equipment was level with her instrument.

“Now to get you all plugged in.” He crouched on the floor, sorting through the snake pit of wires there until he smoothed his fingers over the length of an AUX cable and handed her the free end, which she promptly loaded into the jack on the body of her guitar.

“And now, my…” His muttering trailed off as he turned away from here and Bess looked at the equipment scattered around her. Was it all his? The band’s? The engineer’s? There was so much of it, there was no way one person owned it all. 

She slid off the stool, gingerly, to afford herself a closer look at all the gadgets. Which was a mistake because she found herself longing to test out so many things. 

“You can make yourself a peddle board really quickly, if you’d like.” 

Bess whipped her head around to see Harry still sorting through the wires on the floor. ‘You wouldn’t mind?”

“Go for it.”

So, she went for it, picking out a few reliable favorites and few effects she’d been eyeing up for her own collection. When she returned to set her board down at her feet Harry cocked a skeptical brow. “Remember, our sound isn’t as effects heavy as yours, so…”

Bess gave a non-committal half smile and resumed her perch on the stool. The song they were working on had been reduced by Harry to a few pages of neat notes, which were spread over the flat surface of the music stand before them. “I’ll play it through once and then, well… I think you’ll catch on.”

And she did. It was a nice chord progression, and Harry’s riffs were catchy. She joined in on the next go around and added in just a flavor of her own flair, nothing that was a departure from his style, and all in keeping with the original song. It just needed some melody to complement the tones.

“Ready for a take?” Harry asked as he moved his head phones from where they had rested around his neck.

She nodded and they began the laborious process: playing the song through all the way, playing just a few bars over and over, the odd unscripted solo every now and again to break it all up. Occasionally she would try something, and if was outside of Harry’s comfort zone she could tell instantly. It was a look that crossed his face: the slight narrowing of the eyes, the crease of the brow, the pursing of the lips. It wasn’t a look aimed at her, never at her, but it was enough to let her know his boundaries.

With her mind and hands occupied, the time flew past them until Rich punched on his own mic to let them know it was getting late in the afternoon and he thought they ought to wrap it up for the day.

“Do you need help clearing this up, or…” Bess asked as she slipped her bum, aching from the uncomfortable seat, off the stool. 

“That’s alright. I’m just leaving it for tomorrow.”

Rich left while they were both packing up their guitars. Somehow the silence impressed upon her that this was the first time she’d ever been in a room alone with Harry. While she was quick to zip her Fender into its soft case and fit both straps over her shoulders like a back pack, Harry took more care placing his antique sunburst Gibson Memphis into the hard shell case. She’d identified the guitar earlier, when he had first sat down with it. She did not covet the guitar, but she certainly appreciated how fine it was and how well it sounded. It was a 4 grand guitar, and Harry played it like the price tag was still swinging from the headstock, careful, deliberate, tidy. Bess wondered what the instrument would sound like if she was unleashed on it; not that she would be rough with it, but the guitar was capable of so much more if only someone would play it with abandon.

“Thanks for letting me give you a hand today.” She said, while he did up the chrome clasps and locked the case with a tiny key hung from his key ring.

“Is this the part where I pay you?” He asked dryly and Bess mentally recoiled with unease.

If he really knew her situation, would he be so harsh? “I think I’ve earned my keep.” Was all she said as he fished out his black Taiga leather Louis Vuitton wallet from his jeans pocket. The good Lord knew he could afford to pay her, why was he being such a tight ass?

He passed her a hundred pound note before he took up his case. “Mum’s texted me to let me know the press are waiting outside, so please make sure to give them a good show.”

“Right back at you.” She said, palming the note into her jean’s front pocket.

As they rode the elevator to the ground floor together in total silence Bess wondered how a man who made such interesting, compelling, and well liked music, a man who was clearly passionate and interested in making music, could be such a bore to play with. While they had been recording he hadn’t taken any risks and had played the song straight, with no flair. After listening to and admiring the band practically since its inception, and after looking up to Harry as a fellow musician for a few years, she had found the experience tragically underwhelming. In the past she’d dreamed of having the opportunity to meet him, and that hadn’t gone to plan. Surely playing with him should have gone better, though?

The brushed chrome doors of the elevator parted on the ground floor. Across the lobby, beyond the plate glass windows onto the street, photographers milled, armed with their cameras. None had caught sight of them yet.

 

“Come on.” Harry said and they fell into step with one another as they made for the exit. “What do you think, shall we kiss? Will a hug or some hand holding do it?” His tone was almost snide and it made Bess snippy.

“You’re the boss.”

“That isn’t how this works.” She looked up to see his eyes roving over the scene that awaited them. They’d been spotted now. “And besides I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“The boss.”

Could have fooled her. “Well, in any case. You pick it, I’ll just play along.”

He got the door for her, and as he eased it open they were confronted with an onslaught of camera flashes and shutter clicks. Passing through the door, he followed her. She noticed that the photographers weren’t rushing for them, they weren’t pressing in around them, and instead they all seemed to keep a respectable distance. All the better to get shots of them together, she figured. 

Just then, she felt Harry’s arm about her waist, his fingers pressing into the small of her back to draw her to him. “We’ll meet up again soon. Maybe when both of our schedules line up better than they did today.” He said so only she could hear, his guitar case gently bumping her thigh. 

Unsure of what to do with herself, seemingly in his arms, and vaguely uncomfortable, Bess simply nodded. She’d never had a boyfriend before, never been kissed or petted or held by a man or boy. As much as she wanted out of this situation, the unsatisfactory images she had viewed this morning flashed before her mind’s eye. She could, and she would do better. Bringing her arms up to smooth her hands over his shoulders, Bess laced her fingers behind his neck and smiled up at Harry. “Maybe I should link you up to my digital calendar so you can see for yourself when I’m free.” She suggested.

By now the shutters were clicking away like mad, and she could hear shouted questions that didn’t even register with her.

“That sounds like a plan.” Harry said, his curls falling into his eyes a bit. “And now I’m going to kiss you on the forehead and we’re going to part ways.”

He shuffled closer, his hand sliding across the narrow circle of her waist to gather her nearer, before he deliberately pressed his lips to her temple. And then, almost in slow motion they drew apart, but not before she caught Harry’s hand and, meeting his eyes with what she thought could pass for an adoring smile, gave it a squeeze before letting go.


	5. Chapter 5

It was well past 8pm by the time Bess was able to unlock the door to her shared flat, hair damp and her windbreaker beaded with the rain that had swept her up on the walk from the co-op to the flat. Dropping the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter with a heavy thud she wearily eyed Cecily’s statuesque figure encased in a tiny silk kimono and lounging on her bed, eyes glued to her phone, blond locks swept up and clipped atop her head. 

“And what, exactly have you been up to all day?” Bess tried her best to not let her ire bleed out in her voice.

“Mmmm,” Cece didn’t look up but languidly dragged a finger down her phone screen, “Looking for a job.”

“Where?” She took in the crummy bowls and half drank glasses of water that littered what was intended as a sitting area but was, in fact, Cece’s bedroom. The flat had been advertised as a one bedroom, but the sisters, tight on cash, had agreed on the current, albeit rather undesirable, situation. 

“Well, there wasn’t really a lot posted.”

“Posted where?” She clenched her hands into a fist at her side, already anticipating the response.

“Online.” Cece said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Which only irritated Bess all the more, as she peeled off her windbreaker and draped it over the beat up ladder-back chair beside the front door. “I know this will shock you, but, Cece, you may just have to type up a resume, get dressed, and pound the pavement looking for a job.” 

This elicited an exaggerated eye roll. “Bess…” 

“Trust me. Give it a shot.” She retorted dryly, digging out two tins of spaghetti hoops from the grocery bag 

“Again?” Her sister muttered, eyeing the tins.

Bess bristled, “Contribute to the family income and we’ll be able to eat a bit better.”

The younger girl dragged herself from the bed, “Here, I’ll take care of this,” she gestured to the bag, “you go… freshen up, or whatever.”

Bess tucked her violently red hair behind one ear and sighed, “ok”, she agreed before she slipped into their shared loo. Cece’s hair and beauty products were spread over every spare surface: the ledge of the sink, the top of the toilet tank, the window sill. Bess plucked an eyelash curler from the sink basin and twisted the taps, waiting for the water to get warm.

“Mom called me earlier.” Cece said conversationally from the other room. 

“She have anything to say?” Bess tested the water with a finger. Not hot enough. 

“Well,” there was the sound of cupboards opening and closing, “Mary and Anne are both settling into the school year, but, well, she feels their heart isn’t in it, of course.”

Obviously. How were two teenage girls supposed to come off a summer of touring a well received album with their band and then get back in the classroom and get excited about fractions or earth science or developmental psychology or what-have-you?

“Anything else?” She wetted her fingers again and decided it was warm enough.

The sounds of Cece putting away their meager groceries continued, but there was no immediate response.

Bess leaned over the sink and cupped the water from the tap in her hands before bathing her face. 

“Uh, well, Margot called mum. She wants her to come work for her.” Margot was her father’s sister, and had inherited Uncle Rich’s music label upon his death.

“Not funny.” She managed to sing song before bathing her face a second time.

“Also, not a joke.” Cece said pointedly.

“What?” She cranked the taps off with rather more force than was strictly necessary and grabbed a towel off the rail as she stalked back to the main room.

“Turns out, she thinks she has a hot new artist and she wants mum to produce.” Her sister was fumbling with a can opener, the two tins on the worktop before her.

Dabbing the towel against her cheek, Bess grimaced. “Mum doesn't even produce our music.” 

“I know.” Cece had managed to fit the opener to the first tin. “She said no, obviously. But she says she suspects her label is failing.”

“Oh?”

“Think about it, who do you know on her label. I mean, a good, fresh act? A current chart topper?”

Her sister had a point.

“That and mom sensed she was testing the waters for poaching us to her label.” 

“Us? What, after how she treated our family?” Her voice pitched with incredulity and her cheeks reddened.

“iI wasn’t illegal.” Cece was only trying to help, she knew, but the technicality only set her more on edge. 

“Well, it certainly wasn’t family like!” Margot had always been their Uncle Richie’s favorite sibling. And she knew it. And she exploited it. After Eddy’s death she had convinced Richie not to sign the York sisters to his label, saying nepotism rarely begot success. She had admonished her brother for giving the girls any type of help at all. Furthermore, the girls and their mother had always suspected that Margot was the snake in Richie’s ear, convincing him to sell off the rights to Eddy’s music while he was administering his brother’s estate. The whole ordeal had resulted in a bitter rift between Margot and the York women. 

“Bess, please,” Cece was emptying the spaghetti hoops into a battered pot on the hob now, “it’s all a moot point. Mum won’t go work for her, and we’d never go to her label.”

Bess’ teeth were still on edge, even as she took in what Cece was saying. She was 100% right, obviously. “Yeah. But the audacity…” Then, switching gears, “Margot’s signing new talent?”

“Apparently. Mum said she still has a friend with connections there so she’s going to see if she can get a demo.” She was turning up the heat on the hob now, consulting the instructions on the tin like they hadn’t ate these a million times before. 

“I was going to say it was a bit late for a come back for the label but…” Bess hesitated “One good artist could really change things for them” she padded back to the loo with her towel.

“Kind of like how Richmond turned things around for Rex Records, huh?” Her sister commented as Bess replaced the towel on the rail in the bathroom. “Speaking of…” The tone in Cece’s voice was all mischief.

Scrutinizing her own expression in the mirror above the sink Bess called back “Yeah?”

“Saw some new pics of you two from today.”

Already? “Oh?”

“Mmm, outside of Sony.”

Her tongue flicked out to involuntarily wet her lips as she waited a beat. “How’d they look?” Brows arched quizzically over plaintive dark eyes and she immediately turned away from her reflection.

“See for yourself, I think the article is still up on the laptop in your room.”

It was with a little wobble of trepidation that Bess crossed into her broom closet sized room. The laptop was sitting with a darkened screen atop the bed she had made hastily that morning. Beyond, the window onto the fire escape had been propped open, admitting the smell of wet pavement and the sounds of passing cars and conversations on the street below, her glass ashtray balanced on the sill. Ghosting a finger over the trackpad, the screen immediately illuminated into vivid color, the article title stamped out in tall letters flashed before her:

_“Richmond and York Send a Clear Message”_

Bess scrolled down the page:

 _“Alt Rocker Harry Richmond of Legends and Eddy York’s daughter Bess York, a musician in her own right along with her sisters who form the band White Rose, were seen leaving Sony Studios in Central this afternoon._

_“The two were first spotted weeks ago at Collect Fest, perusing the grounds together. Since, they’ve been noticed at a concert and grabbing drinks at a London bar. But fans were unsure if the relationship was professional, personal, or romantic._

_“All speculation was laid to rest this afternoon when the two emerged from the studios together. Harry accessorized his usual laid back look with a pair of Ran Ban shades while Bess looked decidedly more dressed-down than her on stage persona in a pair of jeans, Vans, plain blue tee shirt, and Columbia windbreaker._

_“Before parting ways the two shared an intimate moment when Harry embraced Bess, pressing a kiss to her forehead. They shared some whispers, which our reporters weren’t able to hear, but we speculate they were ‘sweet nothings’. Reluctant to leave her new squeeze, Bess was observed hanging onto his hand before they headed off in separate directions._

_“This has all the makings of a blossoming romance. We don’t know where we’ll see these two rockers next, but we’re betting they’ll attend the NME Award Nominations dinner together next week.”_

The remainder of the article was composed of some dozen and a half photos, showing every given moment of their short appearance outside the studios. Were the photos really that convincing, she wondered? The “body language” lecture from Maggie seemed to have helped, at least some. They had been close, touchy-feely, and with not a grimace to be seen or any perceivable stiffness from either. But was it too showy? Too blatant?

“Cute.” 

Bess swung her head around to find Cece framed in her door jamb, a tea towel in her hands as she grinned.

“What did you think? Of the photos?” She needed a unbiased opinion. Well, not totally unbiased - after all, Cece was not only her sister, but a direct beneficiary of the media charade.

Cece slipped into a contrapposto, resting a hand on her hip as she thought for a moment. “Well, you certainly answered all the questions the rags had about you two after your last outing. Like, sure it seems awfully convenient and somewhat staged, but who cares. I’s a confirmation same as if you had released some kind of written statement.”

Nodding slowly, Bess took on Cece’s points. Damn, the girl had her head screwed on right tonight for once, she thought to herself. 

“More buyable than your relationship with Charlie, age gap aside.” Cece threw in, off-handedly. “That guy never seemed to touch you.”

No, he had never been romantic. Charles had only bestowed perfunctory kisses on her and eschewed any real intimacy. But it had been, on paper, a good match — daughter of a superstar and son of a French ambassador. However, the fact was, there had never been a real spark. Charlie had always been so wooden with her, so… flat and uninterested. She had wondered half a dozen times if he was in denial about his sexuality.

In the end, Charlie’s dad had forced them to call it all off. Which was probably for the best.

How odd that her fake relationship seemed to come across as more genuine than her real one had. The irony was not lost on Bess.

****

It was early. Early enough that Cece was still passed out cold from partying too hard the night prior to the extent that is freight train passing through their flat would not have woken her. And so Bess didn’t feel bad about strumming her acoustic guitar and singing softly in their shoebox sized flat with the paper-thin walls as her sister slumbered.

She was seated on her bed, back against the wall, trying to work out the music she had scribbled hurriedly in her notebook the day before as she recorded the audio with her phone. The sash was lifted on her solitary window, and her most recent cigarette smoldered on the edge of the glass ashtray. This was how she worked.

Not in some ash and glass enclosure with perfectly engineered acoustics, not with high tech equipment and a team of overpaid handlers. Just herself, a guitar, some notes, and her phone. She could flesh everything else out later. Or, they could flesh everything else out later.

As much as Bess did the legwork on their music, writing all the songs, she still needed - and wanted - her sisters to be a part of it. Her notebooks were full of potential songs, and her phone was brimming with amateurishly recorded tracks. To put it all together she needed Cece, Mary, and Ann. But with the latter two still in school, she wondered when they’d have the chance to collaborate on a sophomore album.

Having dropped their debut only at the end of spring, Bess totally understood that there was little to no pressure to have another album in the pipeline. But, at the same time, she had so much new material she was coming up with, and she desperately wanted something to do with it all. 

Bess saved her latest recording to her phone and was busy tapping out an appropriate title when her phone pinged with a new text message.

_Seeing as it’s been a few days, and seeing as your schedule is clear for today, want to meet up tonight for something?_

And in that instant Bess deeply regretted giving Harry access to her calendar. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hold up her end of the agreement anymore, but after their last stunt her phone had exploded with all manner of notifications from friends, family, and fans across all platforms of communication. Quite honestly it have been far more overwhelming than she had figured it would be.

Maybe she could just ignore the text.

But how long could that kind of plan last her?

 _What did you have in mind?_ She typed back slowly.

The ellipsis that appeared beneath her sent text persisted for three minutes while she waited for the message to materialize, before she switched off her screen and tried to return to her work.

Bess’ mind wandered. The last article she had read about themselves had mentioned the upcoming NME Award Nominations dinner and the assumption that she and Harry would show up together. The dinner was only days away now and so far Harry hadn’t invited her to be his date. She had already RSVPed as attending, personally. But, wouldn’t it be weird if both she and Harry attended separately when they were supposed to be dating?

Maybe he was just waiting to ask her in person? Like, tonight, for instance.

_How does a little stroll around Camden Town sound?_

Setting her phone down, Bess sighed. It was a totally cliche thing for musicians to do, go visit Camden Town and take in the whole vibe. Plus, it was a totally awkward distance from her place. Too close to justify taking the tube and too far to be a casual walk, if she was being lazy. Which she was. And she wasn’t about to order a ride either.

_Where do you live? I can pick you up in my Uber, if you want._

No, she did not want. _I’ll meet you outside the Camden Town station at 6._. Walking it was.

 _See you then._ Was the snappy response.

****

And she did see him then, stiffly unfolding his lanky frame from the back seat of a minuscule Vauxhall Corsa as he thanked the driver. Harry produced a pair of shades from the breast pocket of his Levi’s denim jacket as he approached Bess, who had to actively remind herself to avoid leaning up against the likely filthy outer wall of the station. She didn’t want to sully her new navy blue floral playsuit, even if it was only from Primark. 

“Hey.” He greeted as he sidled up closer to her than she had expected, their hands brushing.

And even though it was all play acting, something about the way his curls fell across his brow and the way his normally taut lips tugged up at one corner made her suddenly a bit shy. Maybe it was that she couldn’t read his eyes behind the barrier of his Ray Bans. “Hey.”

“Come here often?” His fingers caught at her’s.

“Actually, since I just live down in Saint Pancras…” She returned his wry smile, which earned her a chuckle. “Anyway, what’s the plan?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Does there need to be a plan?”

“No, except…” She looked off, as if consulting the busy intersection before her would help her find the words, “You don’t seem like the type to do anything without a plan, no matter how nonchalant you try to appear.”

At this, Harry cocked his head to one side, “Do you presume to know me so well?”

“Deny it then. But I can usually read people pretty well.”

“Bold thing to say.” He tugged on her hand and began leading them up the street past the Electric Ballroom. “But perhaps you do have some kind of a read on me.”

The shops and markets they passed were full of tat which hardly bore remarking on. “So did you tip off the press, or…” Bess asked softly.

“Nope.” Harry said without elaboration.

If there was no press, what was the point of this little outing? She hadn’t agreed to be his social companion, and she was about to be quite irate if she found he was wasting her time. “Care to explain?” She managed to maintain a neutral expression as they strode along.

“Sure,” He nodded slightly and continued sotto voce, “I just think that it’d look way worse if the media were notified each time we were somewhere together. People would be able to figure us out pretty quick. So… I’ve left this one to the people.”

“The people?”

“Social media. Word of mouth. Everyone’s got a camera phone these days, haven’t they? They’re the new media. Plus, it won’t look so… staged.”

Which was exactly what it was. But she had to admit, if even only reluctantly, that his plan was quite clever, and quite modern.

They ambled together, hand in hand, up the high street, stopping on the bridge over the canal to take in the view of the locks before they wandered into the market. Bess noticed, as they darted into stores and stopped to scrutinize shop displays together, that not having a traditional media presence there took some of the pressure off. Sure, there were a handful of eager fans she noticed snapping covert photos, and others who eyed them up over their phone screens, but it had nothing on the overbearing presence of photographers and paparazzi. 

She wasn’t surprised that they enjoyed a lot of the same shops - second hand book stores, used records stores, music shops, and so forth - but Bess’ interest was piqued when Harry made a pit stop in a shop which purported to refurbish old pianos. She wasn’t surprised that he appreciated a fine piano, or that he could play, of course, but rather that when he did sit on the bench was able to play Debussy from memory. It certainly wasn’t something she would have assumed was in his repertoire. Harry Richmond of alt rock fame, with his denim jacket and scuffed Doc Martins gently keying out Rêverie as though it were a little warm-up ditty slightly took her aback. Not that she would let him see. “It’s a fine piano.” He complimented the shop keeper who was sat behind a tall desk, browsing away on his laptop disinterestedly.

“So,” He said to Bess, letting the notes fade out, even as he still eyed the ivories, “are you hungry at all?”

“Well…” She prevaricated.

Standing, Harry absently rubbed his tummy. “Have you had dinner yet? I’m famished. C’mon, let’s get something.”

“Thanks for coming in.” The shopkeeper said as if by force of habit as they exited the shop.

“There’s a lovely little Indian place just over there, the food is to die for.” Bess pointed out the sign over the stall as they walked along together.

Harry pulled a face.

“What?”

“It’s just….” He sighed reluctantly, “I don’t like Indian.”

“Don’t like Indian?” She parroted dumbly, as if the very idea of not liking Indian food was virtually unheard of

“It’s too… spicy.”

Here she had to chuckle. “Not all of the dishes are spicy.”

“Yes, well, they all seem to… have too much flavour.”

Now she truly was confused. Who didn’t like flavour? It was food, for Pete’s sake, all food should have flavour! One glance at his face told her that he did understand that his opinion was not a universal one, and that this was not the first time he had had this conversation with someone. Frankly, he look uncomfortable. “Well, then, what kind of food do you fancy?”

She could almost see the gears turning behind his gray-blue eyes. “Pub food alright?”

“Just fine.” The answer was automatic. She wasn’t much fussed about what they ate just then. Truth be told, she just wanted to get out of there. It seemed they had been well and truly spotted, a small crowd had gathered and folks were getting a lot less shy about snapping their photo. In fact, she rather suspected the girl in the Legends tee shirt was moving in to ask Harry for a selfie.

“There’s a place I like over on Castlehaven that I’m quite partial to, unless there’s somewhere else you’d prefer?”

“That sounds just perfect, but,” She nodded toward the less then subtle onlookers, “I think we should get a move on.”

His eyes followed her’s and rather than balking at the crowd he nodded as if in greeting at them. “Good idea,” he whispered to her under his breath.

Matching his stride and pace they took off out of the market and onto the street. 

****

He still hadn’t asked her to the NME Awards Nomination dinner, Bess couldn’t help but think, as she watched Harry order an Uber from his phone outside of the Hawley Arms pub. 

“Good meal.” Harry said, almost conversationally as he tapped at his phone screen, eyes glued to the device.

Bess was stewing. “Hmmm.” The food had been fine, but Harry wasn’t the best companion. In fact, he wasn’t even a good companion. He seemed virtually indifferent to her as a person and had made only the vaguest of attempts at getting to know her. Meanwhile, all of her usual ice breaking questions had been met with only the barest of answers. He had, however, been very interested in the notifications which kept popping up on his phone. In short, they still knew next to nothing about one another which could not be found in print or on one another’s Wikipedia pages.

Seeing as her “date” seemed otherwise occupied, Bess took the opportunity which she had been waiting for practically since they had met up. “I’m, uh, going to take off now.” She said, shuffling her Chelsea boots. “Thanks for… the meal.”

“Walking back?” He peeked up from the screen which, until now, had almost totally preoccupied him.

She nodded curtly, already beginning to back away from him.

“Bess, it’s,” he gestured to the sky over the park across the street and down the lane a bit, “it’s nearly dark.”

“So?” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her biker jacket, and continued backing up.

But Harry was closing the distance. “So? It’s not exactly safe. Is it?”

Shrugging, Bess slowed her pace a little. “It’s alright.”

“All the same,” He glanced at his phone screen one more time, then pocketed it, “I’d feel a lot better about things if I could just see you home.”

Ride back with Richmond who she was secretly irritated with, or risk a solitary walk back to Saint Pancras in the dark? Bess was somewhere between a rock and a hard place. Common sense seemed to favour the former option. All she had to do was keep her mouth shut for the quick drive, and all would be well.

“Fine.”

The drive wasn’t a long one, at least not in the technical sense. But time seemed to stand still with Richmond, and not in a good way. In the way that visits to the dentist seem to take an agonizing eternity, so also did time alone with Harry.

“Are you planning on attending the NME Awards Nominations dinner?” Bess ventured, finally, as the car crept through the traffic of Camden High Street.

“Oh, gosh, no!” Harry said with a chuckle. “I’m not interested in all that faff.”

Turning her gaze out the window Bess took a deep breath. Crap. “Oh.”

“Are you?”

“Actually,” She knit her fingers together in her lap, “As it’s the first time I’ve been personally invited, I’m planning on attending.”

“Think you’ll be nominated?”

As they rode on, she watched the way the outside scenery reflected in double on the glass to bizarre effect. “A girl can hope. I mean, why else would they invite me?”

“Because of our press.” Harry offered.

He really was so full of himself, wasn’t he. Or was it some kind of act. Or some type of humor she simply didn’t get. “Well, considering how well our tour went, how well our album was received, and the fact that that my invite arrived before we’d inked our little deal… sure, we can chalk this up to your magical presence.”

“Thanks.” He grinned and gave a gracious nod when he caught her eye.

“Why don’t you want to go to the dinner?”

“Oh, it’s all such a dog and pony show. Plus then one has to hob nob with so many truly arrogant people.”

Bess found she had to clear her throat rather loudly to keep from out-and-out laughing. “Yeah?”

They lurched past Euston Station and Bess thanked her stars that she was nearly home now. Not long and she would be free of this gosh-awful car ride and Harry’s thoroughly obnoxious presence.

“Oh, yeah — and the right artists are never nominated either.”

“So, I take it you wont be going to the awards?”

“Now that’s different. I always show up to collect my hardware.”

Hardware? Was this guy for real? “Oh, because the awards aren’t an even bigger dog-and-pony show?"

“They’re different.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, you actually have a chance of coming away with something.”

“Some people consider it an honor just be be nominated.”

“Nominations aren’t awards.”

Oh, shove it. She thought. “Interesting. Well, here I am.” She gestured out the window as she worked the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.” And with that she was slamming the door and turning toward her building.

But then she heard the door latch again and heard footfalls rapid behind her. “Bess. I’m sorry.” Harry said, hand on her shoulder to turn her back toward him. “All that stuff about the nominations and the awards — I was joking. I’m sorry, I just… I have a dry sense of humor.”

“Oh?” Dry or… moronic?

“Of course being nominated is a huge honor, and of course I’m going to the awards, and of course I’m taking you to the diner. I thought that was a given, but… well, I shouldn’t joke around so much.”

“Right.” Now she beginning to think he was certifiably insane.

“I’ll pick you up Friday around 7.”

“Err, ok.” The Uber was still waiting on the curb, back door hanging open, and a nonplussed driver behind the wheel. “Now, that’s not another joke, is it?”

“No, no more jokes. I swear it. I’ll be here.”

Hopefully he’d be on better behavior for that little outing.


End file.
